Some Days Are Diamonds
by MidniteMarauder
Summary: During his sixth year, James discovered he fancied Teddy. When Charlie joined Teddy on the Hogwarts teaching staff for James' seventh year, James wasn't quite sure what to expect, but it wasn't this. Clearly, he must be going mad. T/J, C/T, C/J/T
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**Written for the 2010 hp_nextgen_fest. This version has been edited to remove blatant NC-17 content. It still contains sexual acts, so please heed the warnings below. The original version can, as always, be found on my livejournal. Thanks to my betas, gryffindor_j and inksheddings, and to mindabbles for her advice. Title is courtesy of Tom Petty.

**Pairings:** Teddy/James, Charlie/Teddy, Charlie/James/Teddy, slight Charlie/James. (Past Teddy/Victoire.

**Warnings:** Underage, Cross-gen. (Age disparity: J-17/T-24/C-51) Kinkwise, this story includes non-graphic rimming, figging, spanking, voyeurism, and dirty talk, as well as general male/male sex acts (oral, frotting, etc.)

Most of the story itself is rated PG-13, but there are two particular scenes with sexual content as described above. (Chapters 3 and 4) Read, don't read; scroll, don't scroll. It's up to you.

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* * *

**Some Days Are Diamonds (Some Days Are Rocks)**

_Chapter One (Chapter rating: PG-13)_

"Longest...sorting...ever," Hugo said, banging his head against his empty plate at each word.

"Shh!" Rose hissed. "Roxie's almost up."

Privately, James agreed with Hugo; there had to have been at least seventy-five new firsties this year. "This keeps up, they're gonna need to start a new house. Doesn't anyone use birth control potions anymore?" he whispered to his friend Myles.

"That's rich, coming from a Weasley," Myles whispered back.

"Only half," James said absently.

"Half's enough."

"Roxanne Weasley," Professor Longbottom called, winking at the young girl as she strode nervously to the stool, her long, dark braids swinging.

"Not _another_ Weasley," someone groaned, and a wave of hushed laughter erupted amongst the students.

"See?" Myles said, grinning.

James nudged him. "Five Galleons she goes for Gryffindor."

"How big a fool do you take me for?" Myles asked, elbowing James in the ribs, just as the Hat called out:

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table stood and cheered as Roxanne grinned, looking pleased and embarrassed. She handed the hat back to Professor Longbottom and made her way to the table.

"Oi, Roxie! Over here!" Fred shouted. "Budge up a bit, Mac," he said to his friend, making room for his sister between himself and Hugo. "Knew you'd make it," he said as she climbed onto the bench, and reached out to tug on her braids.

James gave her a thumbs-up, chuckling as she smacked her brother's hand away. The last two first years were sorted, Slytherin and Hufflepuff respectively, and the cheering and chatter levelled off to a low buzz. James turned his attention to the High Table as Professor Longbottom sat down beside Teddy.

Headmistress McGonagall stood, clearing her throat for silence, and began her yearly start-of-term speech, but James wasn't listening. His attention was riveted on Teddy, who looked rather dashing, if he did say so himself, in his navy blue robes.

Teddy had come to Hogwarts to each Ancient Runes during the previous spring term, after Professor Embusto suffered an unfortunate accident. According to the _Prophet_, while he'd been off consulting in South America on a newly discovered Incan tomb, he'd mistranslated—and subsequently mispronounced—a series of runes, and was now a permanent resident of the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's. Teddy had left his rather lucrative position at Gringotts to take up the appointment, and had chosen to stay on, much to the surprise of everyone.

James and Teddy had always been close; Teddy had been much like an older brother to him for as long as he could remember, and James had always harboured a special affection for Teddy. However, as the spring term progressed, James began to notice that the nature of his affections had changed.

It had been a turbulent time for him, and he'd wavered between relief and dismay that he'd never taken up Ancient Runes. He still hadn't told anyone, especially not Myles, and while he'd considered telling Albus at least half a dozen times over the summer holidays, he never quite managed it. They got on rather well now that they were older, and Al was a decent bloke and all, but he had a hard enough time articulating his feelings to himself.

It wasn't that he thought it unnatural—he'd known about his Uncle Charlie's indiscriminate attractions to both men and women for ages—but it was still too new. Besides, one didn't simply blurt out that they had a newly discovered hankering for cock to their best mate or to their younger brother without some repercussions, and he preferred to keep it to himself for a bit rather than risk making a real hash of his relationship with either.

Albus elbowed him in the ribs. "Earth to Jamie," he muttered. "It's almost time, idiot."

Oh, right. He blinked and turned his attention to the headmistress who was frowning at their whole group with an almost resigned look on her face as she spoke. Well, of course after last year she would rightly suspect. She might be pushing a century, but she was a pretty perceptive old bird for all that.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the Ravenclaw table where Louis and Lucy sat, wriggling in anticipation. Louis winked and James grinned back, once again turning his attention to the headmistress who was now openly glaring at him.

"...and so I'm pleased to announce that while Hagrid is on leave, the post of instructor for Care of Magical Creatures will be filled by"—she paused for an almost imperceptible moment, and James could have sworn she steeled her spine—"Professor Weasley."

A loud cheer erupted from the Gryffindor table as Charlie pushed back his chair and stood, tilting his head in acknowledgment. James and Hugo grinned at each other from opposite sides of the table as they set their wands to the fuses, confident that Louis was doing the same. James whooped as the 'special' fireworks George—with some enthusiastic assistance from Ron—had created for this occasion erupted in a brilliant flash of colour and a very loud bang.

An immense sparkling dragon roared as it flew about the Great Hall, emitting great gouts of shimmering red and gold fire, while second and third detonations of thousands of twinkling lights zoomed amongst the startled student body. After the dragon had made several swooping circuits around the large room, the lights rose as one and coalesced to form a banner, reading:

**Welcome, Professor Weasley!**

***  
**

_Take your Quintaped to Bed!_

_He'll teach you how to Tame that Beast!_

_Be careful when you Stroke your Moke!_

_And lastly, Please Enjoy the Feast!_

The students cheered and whistled, Charlie shook his head and laughed, and Teddy ducked his head, hand on his forehead, his shoulders shaking with laughter. Professor Longbottom grinned and clapped, leaning in close to whisper something to Teddy, and Professor McGonagall turned white as a sheet and shook her head at James in askance.

At least they'd spared her the bawdy singing birds and dancing dinnerware this time, though that had been hastily contrived, since Teddy was offered the Runes position five days before the end of Christmas holidays. He saw Lily down the end of the table with her friends, standing on the bench, thumb and forefinger resting against her lower lip as she whistled shrilly.

"All right, simmer down, please, Miss Potter, if you will," Professor McGonagall said as the pyrotechnics quieted to a low crackle of hisses and pops. The words on the banner faded, replaced briefly with the logo for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes before it vanished. The dragon happily took up residence hovering above the Gryffindor table and seemed to glare in the direction of the Slytherin table. James was sure that last added touch was care of his Uncle Ron and shook his head. He'd never change.

"Yes, yes, thank you, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, and Mr Weasley." She rubbed a finger between her eyebrows and added, albeit more softly, "I suppose it was inevitable.

"Settle down please. Thank you. If I might continue, Quidditch trials will be held in two weeks. Notices will be posted in each common room for those wishing to play for their house teams. Captains, you will meet with Madame Hooch on Friday after classes to discuss scheduling and other necessary details." She glanced once again at the glowering dragon and sighed. "Welcome to you all, and enjoy the feast. Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, and Mr Weasley, please see me before you return to your common rooms."

James chuckled, gave Charlie a thumbs-up, and glanced quickly at Teddy who was looking back at him and smiling. He turned to load his plate with roast beef and potatoes, ignoring the herd of hippogriffs traipsing through his stomach and the blush on his cheeks.

"Brilliant! Not even an hour and already you're in detention," Albus said, tossing a piece of roasted potato at James which hit him on the nose and fell to the table. James grinned, picked it up, gave his brother a two-finger salute, and popped the potato into his mouth.

"Dad'll be pleased," Rose said, rolling her eyes and elbowing Hugo in the ribs. She looked up at the dragon and shook her head.

"Nah," James said, and swallowed a mouthful of roast beef. "She won't give us detention. She's not daft, you know. Knows perfectly well where that came from, just like last year. Bet she sends your dad and Uncle George a Howler again though."

"Mum and Dad'll laugh," Fred said, reaching across Roxie to steal a chicken leg from the pile on Hugo's plate.

"My mum'll say he deserves it," Rose said, stabbing viciously at her own plate. "Honestly, he'll never grow up, will he?"

"Aw, he's just having a bit of fun—" James said, but Rose cut him off with a glare.

"Well, it's true. I love him, but," she gestured at the dragon, "his Gryffindor-Slytherin mentality is just..." She floundered for a moment and threw her fork at her plate in disgust.

"So last century," Albus said. "Yes, we know."

"Spoilsport," Hugo said. "Quit worrying about it. Quentin won't hold it against you—look, he's smiling at you. See? Oi! Caswell!" Hugo shouted and waved, blowing an exaggerated kiss toward the Slytherin table. He winced as his sister elbowed him again, and rubbed his side, grinned, and reached for a second pork chop, fighting with Fred over it. "And he likes Dad. Thinks he's funny," he added, chewing a huge mouthful of pork chop to flaunt his victory over Fred. He swallowed and gulped down half a goblet of juice, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Rose wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Merlin...You'd think we don't feed you at home."

Hugo laughed, and took another bite, almost choking. "Need to keep up my strength. Quidditch tryouts soon," he said, swallowing, or trying to as Roxanne helpfully pounded him on the back. He cleared his throat and took a sip of juice. "Ah, better. Might have some competition for starting Beater from Roxie here. Besides, as I was saying, you thought the fireworks idea was brilliant two weeks ago. Or has that prefect's badge gone and sucked the life out of your sense of humour?" he added, gesturing to the badge pinned to the front of her robes.

"There's nothing wrong with my sense of humour," she retorted.

"Children, children," James said, grinning. He waggled his finger at Rose. "Then maybe _you_ should send your dad a Howler," he added and snickered. "That would be even better than one from old McGonagall." He glanced up at the High table. Charlie was chatting with Teddy and Madam Hooch, and seemed to be enjoying himself. He looked good, casual and relaxed despite the formal professorial robes he was wearing. Then again, Charlie could make anything look cool.

He absently sipped his pumpkin juice and stared as Madam Hooch leant behind Charlie and whispered something to Teddy. Charlie grinned, and Teddy laughed aloud, absently running his hand through his hair. James licked his lips and clenched his thighs together, grateful for his shapeless school robes.

"Quit staring. You're starting to drool."

"Eh?" James said, turning back to the table, his trance broken as the noisy thrum of hundreds of students chattering away, interspersed with the occasional clanking of silver, returned in full force.

Albus glanced up at the High Table and back at his brother. He raised his eyebrows and looked as if he were about to say something, but instead reached for a chicken leg and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully.

"What?" James said, narrowing his eyes.

Albus swallowed and returned James' look. "Nothing," he said and turned away, interjecting in the conversation Fred, Myles, and Hugo were having about who should replace Armstrong as starting Chaser this year.

James shrugged and looked back at the High Table. Teddy was drinking from his goblet, and James watched his throat contract as he swallowed. Teddy lowered the goblet a fraction of an inch, and James realised that Teddy was staring back at him, a wide, crooked grin spreading across his face. Teddy winked at him, and James inhaled sharply, feeling a blush creeping up his neck. He exhaled as slowly as he could and winked back, trying to exude an air of swaggering confidence he didn't feel. He cleared his throat, hoping he didn't look like an idiot, and turned back to his meal only to discover Albus watching him again, his face unreadable.

"Bloody what?" James said, exasperated.

Albus shook his head and reached for the rhubarb crumble that appeared in front of him, but James heard him mutter, half under his breath.

"Shit, Jamie."

~*~

"All right. Chasers! I want Albus, Millie, and Santos flying interference. First group up, Franklin, Gennaro, and," he looked over at the group. "You there," he pointed at a young girl. "What's your name?"

"Hazel, sir."

"Right, Hazel. And you don't have to call me sir. James will do." He gestured for her to join the other two, and addressed the entire group. "I don't want to see fancy stunt flying or grandstanding. I want to see you working as a team. I don't care if you're the greatest flyer ever to set your arse on a broom. If you can't play together, you don't play at all. Not on my team. Got that?"

They all bobbed their heads, and a few murmured, "Yes, sir." He sighed and continued.

"No Bludgers this round. I'll be looking at your flying, but more importantly, your passing and evasion. Those of you who are new, and that's most of you, won't know our formations, and I don't expect you to. What I care about is endurance, instinct, your ability to see the whole pitch, know where your teammates are and anticipate. And whether or not you can hold on to the Quaffle, of course." Titters of nervous laughter broke out among the group of hopefuls. "We'll work on offence first, then I'll switch you up, and you'll defend. And then we'll bring on the Bludgers."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Albus giving him the 'get on with it already, you tosser' look. He rolled his eyes and clapped his hands together. "Right, you six, in the air. McDonald, at the hoops to start. Show me what you've got." It was going to be a long morning.

James glanced at his watch: just over an hour until lunch and he was feeling a bit peckish. Tryouts had gone well, and he was pleased with their prospects. There were two new Chasers he was particularly impressed with, including little Hazel, and a third he wished he had a slot for. Roxie had smacked the hell out of the Bludgers, and earned a spot on the reserve roster. Fred and Hugo would advance this year from reserves to starting Beaters, and Millie would move up to join him and Albus as starting Chasers. Lily would keep her spot as Seeker, with Benny as reserve, and Myles of course as Keeper, with McDonald as his backup. Not bad at all.

"Okay. One last scrimmage before we break. Hazel, you fly with Al and Millie. Jones," he called. "You fly with Santos and"—he glanced down at his notes—"Davenport. Myles, switch hoops with McDonald. Albus, you're gold, Santos, your team is red."

He flew down to collect the Quaffle while the two teams Charmed their clothing the appropriate colours. "Everyone ready?" He blew his whistle, released the Bludgers and Snitch, and rose to the centre of the pitch. He counted to five, blew his whistle again, and tossed the Quaffle, quickly diving out of the way and flying toward the stands to watch.

"Good team this year."

He turned, startled to find Charlie, Teddy and Rose seated in the stands just below him. "When did you get here?" he asked.

"Been here the whole time," Teddy said. "Anal bastard of a captain that you are, it's no wonder you didn't notice."

"Hmph. I'll take that as a compliment."

"Had to come watch my youngest niece kick everyone's arse," Charlie said, grinning. "She's a spitfire, that one. Fred better watch out or he'll be the reserve behind her."

"It's more like Team Weasley than Team Gryffindor out there," Teddy added. "Obviously a dominant gene in the family."

"Skipped Percy though," Charlie said, shaking his head. "Hey, Captain. Don't you think you'd better watch your team?"

_Oh, right. Shit!_ James turned back to the scrimmaging teams, drifting high above the pitch, though his mind was preoccupied and he paid little attention to the game even as the players whizzed by him. He snuck a glance back toward the stands. Teddy had his arm slung casually around Rose's shoulder, and Charlie was leaning in close on his other side, pointing toward the far end of the pitch. Rose was apparently keeping score, and a flash of sparks flew from the tip of her wand: 30-10.

"Hey!" Albus yelled as he flew past. James blinked and turned his attention to the game. _Bugger._ He'd missed four goals? He shook his head and flew to the opposite side of the pitch, watching as Al, Hazel and Millie approached Myles. Roxanne smacked a Bludger at Al, who swerved erratically out of the way, but managed to get a pass off to Hazel. Hazel shot forward with a burst of speed, cocked her arm as though taking a shot on goal, but passed to Millie on her left, who was surging forward. Millie caught the Quaffle and in a single motion, fired it toward the hoops, where Myles, caught out by Hazel's fake, couldn't get back to defend his right hoop in time. Goal!

James whooped, one fist pumping the air, and shook his finger at Myles, who flipped him two fingers and threw the Quaffle to Jones. James laughed, teetering, and grabbed onto his broom to steady himself, turning his attention toward the other side of the pitch. He saw Lily and Benny circling and flying cross-patterns, searching for the Snitch. Hugo smacked a Bludger, and Al subsequently intercepted the Quaffle from Santos and started back toward Myles.

He heard a loud cheer from the stands, and caught sight of Teddy again. He was leaning forward now, resting his forearms on the railing, his fingers laced together, watching the game intently. The late summer sun glinted off his brown hair—he rarely changed it now that he was back at the school—and turned the sun-bleached hair at the crown a bright gold. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and his skin glowed with the remnants of his summer tan. James licked his lips as Teddy stood, long legs and narrow hips visible through the bars of the stands, and pointed towards James, shouting something he couldn't hear.

James cocked his head, puzzled, and bent to fly closer, but before he could do more than grip his broom with both hands, something hard smacked him in the side of the head and everything went black.

~*~

He woke slowly, his body feeling like it was made of stone. He tried to move, to blink, but it seemed to take far too much effort. He was lying on something soft, and he was warm, too warm, and both the back of his neck and the curve of his lower back were damp with sweat. His head swam with pain and he felt dizzy, exhausted, and faintly nauseous.

He heard a murmur of voices somewhere far off, and closer, a soft sigh. Someone gently brushed his hair off his forehead and whispered, "You daft bugger."

Teddy. He relaxed, willing his stomach to stop churning and focused on Teddy's voice whispering softly in his ear, Teddy's fingers gentle against his skin, combing through his hair. He must have drifted off again, for he was alone when he finally opened his eyes.

He was in the hospital wing, and it was dim behind the curtained partitions. His mouth was dry and he was uncomfortably hot, but when he tried to sit up, the pounding in his head made it feel as though it would explode, and he fell back against the pillow, groaning.

The curtains parted briefly, and he shut his eyes tight, groaning again and raising his hand to shield them as the brighter light from the main ward stabbed deep into his skull.

"Awake, are you?" Madam Pomfrey said softly. "That's good. No, don't try to move. I'll raise the bed."

She flicked her wand and the top half of the bed slowly lifted until he was sitting upright. He held his head in his hands, swallowing and breathing shallowly. "Not going to be sick, are you," she asked, eyeing him warily.

He shook his head instinctively and groaned once again, his eyes tearing from the pain. "Shit," he muttered, pressing his fingers hard against his temples.

"Language, Mr Potter. And I would advise you not to move your head too much just now. Now drink this, please. All of it."

He opened his eyes slowly, but the curtain was back in place, a solid buffer against the light. She helped him to hold the steaming goblet, and he took a gulp of the brackish liquid, nearly gagging at the taste. "Merlin, that tastes like arse," he said, trying to push it away.

"We'll have no more of that. Now drink up. Quickly now."

He blinked up at her. She was glaring at him with an expression that clearly said, 'drink this or I'll force it down your throat, and you won't like that one bit, I assure you,' so he took a deep breath, held his nose, and swallowed the potion as quickly as possible.

"Ugh," he said, making a face. "Why does it always have to taste so bloody awful?"

"How's your head," she asked, ignoring the question.

Actually, his head felt remarkably better. He blinked in surprise and tentatively shook his head. No pain at all. It might taste like arse, but damn, that shit works fast. He didn't realise he'd said that last bit aloud.

"One more time with the language Mr Potter, and I _will_ give you detention. I know you were injured, but that's still no excuse. Now, I'll have one of the house-elves bring you a light supper, and you'll rest here for another hour. If you've no further pain, you may return to your common room, but no Quidditch for the rest of the week.

"But—"

"You may captain your team from the stands, but no flying until the weekend. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said sullenly.

Bikky brought him a tureen of vegetable soup and a loaf of fresh granary bread, along with a pot of hot, sweet tea. He was still eating when he heard shuffling footsteps approaching. Not Madam Pomfrey.

"So you're alive."

Albus. "Alive and hungry," he agreed. "You'll have to wait 'til next year for the Captain's badge."

"Didn't think I'd get that lucky," Albus said lightly. "You really okay? That was a nasty whack you took. Nearly caved in your skull."

"Nah," he said, knocking his knuckle against the side of his head. "Solid bone."

"Definitely thick," Albus agreed, smiling. James smacked him lightly on the shoulder and nearly upset his soup bowl. Albus shook his head, sat down on the edge of the bed, and frowned. "Roxie feels awful. She was really upset. Madam Pomfrey had to give her a Calming Draught, and Lily took her back to the tower. She's sleeping, but you should go see her as soon as you get back."

"I will. Poor kid. Hell of an arm, though. Ought to tell her she made the cut as well."

"I figured. She'll probably be the best player of all of us. What about Chasers?"

"Millie'll move up with us, and Hazel and Jones as reserves. I'd like to take Davenport, too, but there's only room for two, and Jones was a little bit better. She'll have no trouble making the team next year. If you'd like, she can come to practices, fly backup and learn the formations. I like our chances for the cup, though."

Albus nodded. He was silent while James finished his soup, and sliced himself a piece of bread, buttering it absently, lips pursed.

"Right. What is it that you want to say that you really don't want to say?" James said, sighing as he dropped his spoon in the empty bowl.

"That was an absolutely horrible sentence."

"Did you come here to critique my grammar?"

"Well, it was."

"Don't change the subject," James said, rolling his eyes. He poured himself a mug of tea, added milk, and sipped it. It was good, but it did nothing to quench his thirst. He wished Bikky had brought him juice. His mouth felt like old parchment, and he was anxious. Albus was stalling, and that worried him.

"The subject was your bloody awful diction. Fine," he added as James gave him a look. "Grammatically awful but factually correct." He took a large bite and chewed slowly, swallowed.

"It's wrong, Jamie," Albus blurted. "You can't, I mean, you can't do that. Not the liking blokes thing—I don't care about that. You know that. But he's family, for fuck's sake!"

James stared at his brother, wishing he hadn't eaten. He felt sick. He'd counted on Al to understand, or at least show a bit of sympathy, but if he felt this way.... He opened his mouth, but he couldn't think of a single thing to say; closed his mouth, opened it again to protest, and instead picked up his mug and gulped down a too-large swallow of the hot tea, scalding his tongue. He gasped, free hand pressed tight against his chest as the tea burned its way down his oesophagus into his stomach.

Al grabbed the mug from him and set it on the tray. "You really are an idiot, aren't you. Look, I didn't want to upset you, but I had to say something before you got yourself killed. I saw you staring at him when you got hit. And at the feast, Merlin, Jamie, you were practically drooling."

"I was _not_ drooling!"

"Well, not literally," Al amended, "but you were staring at him like a lovesick krup. It was kind of disturbing, really." He picked up the tray and put it on the nightstand, sitting back down, his expression earnest. "I know he's like you, or you're like him I suppose I should say—"

"_What_?"

"Stop looking so shocked," Albus said. "I'm not going to tell anyone."

"How do you know he's, I mean, that I'm like him?"

Albus snorted. "You're joking, right? I told you. I don't care if you're gay or bi-sexual, or tri- or quad-sexual for that matter, if there is such a thing, though I'd probably draw a line if you wanted to shag a house-elf or something."

"Bite your tongue, you perverted bastard."

"I'm perverted? You're the one gagging for our uncle! He's mum's brother!"

"I'm—Wait—What? _Charlie_?" James spluttered. He fell back against the pillow and laughed. "Bloody hell, Al!" he said, wiping tears from his eyes. "I thought...well, never mind that. S'not important. Charlie? Our Uncle Charlie? You're barking! Been watching too much Muggle telly."

Albus bristled. "I know what I saw."

"No, you really don't, but I love you anyway, you daft bugger," James said, wrapping his arm around Albus' neck, pulling him close and knuckling the top of his head. Albus squirmed, punched James in the thigh and pulled away. "I've definitely not got a thing for Charlie, I promise you," he added, chuckling.

Albus looked at him with a doubtful expression, then sighed. "All right. But you'd better stop staring so much or else I won't be the only one who comes to that conclusion. Teddy probably thinks you're a nutter, too. Actually he already knows that. Probably thinks you were staring at him."

James' smile froze on his face. _Oh, bugger_!

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

**Some Days Are Diamonds (Some Days Are Rocks)**

_Chapter Two (Chapter rating: PG-13)_

James hadn't quite known what to expect, having his uncle for a professor, but Charlie had turned out to be a very good teacher. Of course, during that first class, everyone had wanted to know when they'd be studying dragons.

"Next term," Charlie had said, smiling patiently, "and if you lot demonstrate you're responsible enough, we'll see about an excursion or two to the reserve in the Welsh mountains for some hands-on experience."

This revelation had been met with excited cheers, but once they'd settled down, Charlie had taken them down the lake to review what they knew of Grindylows, Kelpies, and Lobalugs. This was met with less enthusiasm, until they'd learned that for the next four weeks, hopefully before the weather turned, they'd be going out into the lake to see them up close in their natural habitat.

James and his friends had gone swimming in the lake before, but they'd never ventured that far or that deep where the more dangerous creatures resided. For class, they'd taken five of the boats out to the middle of the lake, and after a stern warning from Charlie, they'd removed their robes and shoes, performed Bubble-Head charms, Transfigured their feet into flippers, and dived in.

Two of his classmates had ventured a bit too close to the Grindylows that first day and had to be rescued—sixteen people shooting jets of boiling water at the poor creatures had been a bit excessive, albeit effective—but after that, things had gone rather smoothly, and they'd even met a couple of Merpeople who were eager to show them all kinds of dangerous plants and creatures. The giant squid had come to investigate as well, and turned out to be rather friendly and even affectionate. It seemed to recognize Charlie, and once they realised that it was hugging him and not trying to eat him, James and a few others had ventured close enough to pet it.

Although he'd never considered pursuing it as a career, James liked Care of Magical Creatures because he was fascinated by the unusual creatures they studied, and particularly with Hagrid as professor, it was unpredictable and even dangerous. He liked Hagrid, and while he was certainly knowledgeable about all the creatures they studied, there was always an air of recklessness to his teaching; after all, being half Giant, he was less susceptible than full wizards to many of the dangers they presented.

Charlie, he discovered, was also knowledgeable, and nearly as unpredictable, but he felt a lot safer, and couldn't imagine Hagrid taking them into the lake without a lot more casualties. He could see that his fellow students were enamoured with his uncle, and also seemed to regard him with a sense of awe. It filled James with an odd sense of pride.

After their final underwater adventure, James hung back after class, helping Charlie secure the boats in the little grotto beneath the castle since they wouldn't need them any longer. He hadn't been down here since his first year, and he looked around the little harbour, at the smooth stone walls of the tunnel, remembering that first trip with Hagrid and how excited and carefree he'd been. A lot had changed over the last six years, and it struck him for the first time that he wasn't coming back next year.

He'd known this, of course, but it hadn't quite sunk in, and he felt suddenly hollow, a prickling along his spine causing him to scratch at it absently. He loved Hogwarts and all of its strange magical secrets, and though he was looking forward to life after school—rumour had it that three Quidditch teams were interested in him, and getting paid to play a game he loved so much hardly seemed like 'work'—he would miss this place that had become a second home to him.

Charlie wouldn't be here next year, but Teddy would, and while he would see Teddy during holidays, it wouldn't be the same, nor would it be often enough. He felt like a lovesick fool, but he knew the hollow feeling in his chest and stomach was as much due to that realisation as it was to leaving the school itself.

_And what does it matter anyway if you're too much of a bloody coward to_ do _anything about that anyway, Potter?_

Sometimes he really hated that sarcastic voice in his head. What was he supposed to do? Profess his undying love—or lust for that matter—so Teddy could pat him on the shoulder and tell him he'd grow out of it? Or worse, he might laugh at him, or turn away in disgust.

Besides, it wasn't _love_. He wasn't even sure what love was at this point. Well, he _did_ love Teddy, loved him like a brother, and that's what made it all so complicated. He loved Albus like a brother, too—Albus _was_ his brother after all—but he didn't want to shag Al.

"Shut up," he muttered, before the sarcastic voice could make a snide retort to that.

"What was that?" Charlie asked over his shoulder.

"Nothing. Sorry. Just talking to myself." He stared down at Charlie's back, his shoulders broad beneath the damp shirt, and wondered if he'd ever thought about his brother Bill—

Right. He was _not_ going there, except he already had in his mind, and he was even more of a perverted bastard than Albus for even thinking it in the first place. Likely depraved as well, because instead of being repulsive, the brief vision had been worryingly arousing. Bloody hell, he was losing his mind to his cock. He needed help.

"C'mon," Charlie said, straightening up as the last of the boats were secured. "The stairs are this way."

They reached the Entrance Hall and Charlie clapped him on the shoulder in farewell.

"Hey, Charlie, wait a sec." He licked his lips and took a deep breath.

Charlie turned back and raised his eyebrows.

"I, er," James stuttered. _Oh, get a grip, Potter._ "I mean, are you busy? Do you have a class now?"

"Nope. Friday's an early day for me. Something on your mind?"

"Yeah, sort of. Mind if I come down to your place for a bit? I've practice later, but not 'til after supper."

"Sure. I was just going to have a shower, but that can wait."

They were quiet as they walked down to Hagrid's—now Charlie's—hut, James trying to figure out how to ask what he wanted to ask without sounding like a daft idiot. Charlie was the logical person to talk to about his...problem, but James wasn't used to talking about it outside his own head. At least, he thought, Charlie would probably be a lot kinder than that blasted voice.

"Why are you staying here and not in the castle anyway?" he asked as they reached the hut.

"Old Grammenhammer's a bit of a snob," Charlie said, opening the door and gesturing him inside.

"That the new poncy old git with that horribly gaudy walking stick who chased us away from the Whomping Willow last week?"

"That's the one. He's here as official groundskeeper while Hagrid's away. Used to work for some of the old, wealthy pureblood families back in the day, and claims he redesigned the gardens at Buckingham Palace for the Muggle King, though everyone knows it was Tilden Toots. Bit of professional rivalry, I suppose, though that's just a nice way of saying he's a jealous git. Dad knows him. Doesn't like him much." Charlie shrugged, and gestured for James to have a seat at the table.

James rolled his eyes as he pulled out a chair. "Don't know why he took the job then. I take it he wouldn't stay in here?"

Charlie nodded. "Refused to set foot in this 'hovel', and insisted on lavish quarters inside the castle, so I offered to stay here instead. I like it. It's private and feels more like home to me, although I've had a couple of nasty surprises when I opened some of the cupboards, and you don't want to go into the pantry without a torch and a ready-to-fire stunner."

James laughed. "That's Hagrid for you. Dad said he hatched a dragon egg in here once."

Charlie grabbed two bottles of Muggle beer from the cold cupboard and nodded. "Norberta. She's a sweet old girl," he said fondly. "Don't tell McGonagall," he said with a grin as he twisted off the metal caps. "So what's on your mind?" He sat down and slid one of the bottles across the table.

James took a long pull from his bottle and shifted a bit uncomfortably in his chair. "Hey. My feet can touch the floor."

"I shrunk the furniture. Had to," Charlie said, and grinned. "Well, not the bed, but I did lower it a bit. Nearly sprained my ankle the first morning getting out of it. But I don't think that's what you wanted to talk to me about, yeah?"

James took another drink and glanced past Charlie's shoulder at the tremendous bed. It could easily sleep five people, and he nearly choked as his mind supplied the all-too-vivid images of five people lying in it and definitely _not_ sleeping.

He shifted again in his chair, yet again grateful for his school robes hiding his budding erection. At this rate, he might never wear jeans or trousers again. He rotated the bottle around in his hands and surreptitiously glanced at his uncle, Al's misguided allegation suddenly forefront in his mind.

Charlie was over fifty, nearly ten years older than his own parents, but he had always seemed younger to James. His parents weren't exactly old, not even middle-aged by wizarding standards, but they were his parents after all. Charlie, on the other hand, who by all rights should be 'old' to a nearly eighteen-year-old...

His hair was still red, a bit lighter than his mum's or George's since he spent so much time outdoors in the sun, and the only visible grey was near his temples. His complexion was a ruddy tan, and he was covered with freckles, which instead of looking weathered, made him look younger still. James had freckles, and tended to burn in the sun if he wasn't careful, but he was dark where Charlie was red, and lanky in comparison to Charlie's more compact frame.

They didn't look alike at all, physically, but apparently they were similar in other, more intrinsic ways.

"How did you know?" he blurted, his voice slightly hoarse.

Charlie regarded him over the rim of his bottle. "Care to be a bit more specific there, kiddo? Lots of ways to answer that one."

James plunked his bottle down on the table and rolled his eyes. "I knew I'd sound like an idiot. Shit." He rubbed his forehead, scrunched up his nose, and sighed.

Charlie continued to watch him, then took a drink and leant back in his chair, smiling. "Ah. I see. Having a crisis, are we?"

James picked up his bottle and took another swig. "You could say that, yeah."

"You're not abnormal, if that's what you're worried about."

"I _know_ that," James retorted, then grinned crookedly. "Sorry."

"No worries. I was your age once, you know."

"Back in the dark ages?"

"Git," Charlie said, balancing his chair on its two back legs. "It does make you feel different though," he said. "And it was probably worse when I was your age because it wasn't as widely accepted, much less publicly acknowledged.

"Oh," he said, forestalling James' interruption, "that's not to say it wasn't prevalent. It was. Plenty of men took male lovers as well as mistresses. For centuries, actually. You ever read about the ancient Greek and Roman wizards? No? You should," he added, tilting the bottle to his lips and swallowing. James turned his gaze away, studying the label on his own bottle. "Very enlightening. Fascinating, too. But getting back to our modern little civilisation, even two, three decades ago it simply wasn't talked about out loud, if you know what I mean. You'll have it a lot easier now."

"Doesn't feel very easy," James muttered.

"I said easi_er_. There's a difference. You'll be okay. You're naturally outgoing, and no matter how you feel right now, you've always been confident. It'll come back."

"Did you feel like this?"

"Like what?"

James grunted and looked up. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

"It's different for everyone, Jamie. How long have you known?"

"I don't know. A little less than a year, I guess. Last term was the first I really thought about it. How old were you?"

"Oh, probably about thirteen, maybe fourteen. All my roommates were going completely daft over girls they'd despised a year ago. I noticed them too, and I liked them well enough, but..." He shrugged. "I just kind of went with it. Better than panicking, I suppose. I was never much for panicking."

"Merlin's balls. Thirteen? I'd have gone spare."

"Nah," Charlie said, and tilted his bottle back. He wiped his mouth and grinned. "Had twice as many prospects, didn't I? Now, fourth year, there was this Ravenclaw Beater..." He broke off, and his eyes were distant with memory. "Good year, that was. Of course, I also had Bill to talk to about it." He laughed suddenly. "God, it was fun to make him squirm, telling him about my, ah, exploits back then. He was great, and didn't care, but he definitely didn't want to know the details. Now, it'd probably turn the rest of his hair white." He laughed again and shook his head. "So what about you? Is it just blokes, or birds, too?"

"Both, I guess. I don't know. There aren't any girls I'm interested in right now."

"Oh?" Charlie blinked rather owlishly. "So I take it there _is_ a bloke then. Anyone I know?"

"Hmph. 'M'not telling," James said, wondering just what would turn Uncle Bill's hair white, desperately wanting to ask about those details, but also slightly unnerved at the thought of what he might learn. He was completely out of his depth and hadn't felt this awkward in years.

"O-ho. Gonna be that way about it, eh?" Charlie grinned. "So that's why you took a Bludger to the head, is it? Hope it was worth it. But for future reference, trust me when I say you don't want to be flying around with a great stonking erection. Far too distracting as you discovered."

James raised his eyebrows and said nothing. He couldn't remember if he'd had one or not, but it wasn't his own prick that had distracted him anyway. At least not then.

"You want another? Just one more. I get you pissed before practice, McGonagall and your mum'll both have my head. Can't have you falling off your broom again."

"I'll get it," James said. "And I'm not going to get pissed on two beers."

He stood, collected the empty bottles and put them in the sink, opened the door to the cold cupboard and peered inside. He spotted the beer and reached for two bottles, pausing as he caught sight of some strange brownish-white thing wrapped in clingfilm. It looked rather like the ginger root they used in potions class, and he raised his eyebrows, not sure if he wanted to know what one was doing in Charlie's cupboard. It wasn't like he was after brewing potions, nor did he need a Wit-Sharpening Potion anyway. He shrugged, grabbed the beer and closed the door.

He handed Charlie a beer and sat back down, still staggered that Charlie had known at thirteen. Listening to his uncle talk so casually about sex made his skin prickle with gooseflesh, though not unpleasantly. While he'd known about Charlie since he was a young boy, he realised that he hadn't quite _known_ or understood. It had merely been another piece to the puzzle that was Charlie, part of the whole and not something he'd really given much thought to until recently.

He shook his head and took a long drink, licking his lips, and feeling beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. His problem wasn't that he fancied blokes; the problem was that he fancied one bloke in particular.

"Does Teddy know?"

"_What?_" His voice rose almost an octave higher than normal, and his heart pounded wildly in his chest. Merlin's balls on a stick, how did Charlie know? Was he that obvious?

"I guess that's a no. It's okay. I just thought you'd have talked to him about it. I know you two have always been close."

"Oh. Oh! Well, yeah, um. Actually, you're the first person I...well, Al knows. I mean, I didn't tell him. He sort of guessed. Actually, he thought...er, well, he was wrong about that bit. But I knew you were, you know, and I just thought..." James shrugged, and covered his awkwardness by taking a long pull on his beer.

Charlie laughed. "Merlin, I'd want to be seventeen again like I'd want a hole in my head. Relax. It's not the end of the world. In fact it's the beginning of whole new world, and a rather pleasant one, if I do say so myself. You should tell Teddy, though."

James frowned. Right, he'd get right on that one. "Yeah, I suppose. I'll think about it."

"You want me to tell him?"

"Christ, no!"

"Titchy little thing, aren't you." He stopped grinning and looked at James with a serious expression. "I know I'm teasing you a bit, but you do know you can talk to me about this and I won't tell anyone, yeah?"

"Why do you think I'm here? 'Course I know. It's just...I mean, it shouldn't be so hard to talk about it. Not to you. I've known about you since I was a kid. Remember that Christmas you brought your boyfriend to supper?"

"Oh, right. Nigel. You remember that? You couldn't have been more than five or six at the time."

James chuckled. "I remember. I asked my dad and boy did he blush. Of course I didn't really understand why at the time. He was going on about 'special friends', then Mum saved him and explained." He toyed with the paper label on the bottle, peeling the edge. "I just feel really stupid about it. Like I'm thirteen all over again. I've no idea what I'm doing, and it's not like with girls. Not that it was all that easy with girls, but I can't just go up to this bloke and tell him I fancy him. I think"—he peeled the label off slowly, frowning—"I don't think he fancies blokes, see."

"Ah. That could complicate things. But as for not knowing what you're doing, you're wrong there. Granted we're not all the same, but I imagine you know what to do with your own cock."

James blushed. "I'm not that daft," he muttered.

"And chances are," Charlie continued, "that anyone you're going to get involved with now, at your age, isn't going to be much more experienced. I wouldn't worry too much about that right now. You managed with girls, yeah? And when it comes to sex, well, when you're young anyway, women are practically a different species unto themselves. That bit, at least, will be less complicated with blokes. Besides, part of the fun is fumbling along together, and that doesn't change whether it's a bloke or a bird."

"If you say so."

"I do. Trust me. And even when you're older, a younger, inexperienced partner can be..." he trailed off, a crooked smile on his face. "Am I embarrassing you?"

He thought again about Al's assumption and blushed even more. "Just a little."

Charlie laughed. "You'll understand one day. Have you been with anyone yet?"

James wanted to crawl under the table, _fourth year...Ravenclaw Beater_ echoing in his ears. "Er. Not really. Sort of, but, um."

"'Sort of'?" Charlie raised his eyebrows, and James wished he had another label to peel.

"Um. Over the summer. Went into London to a pub."

"A pub."

"Okay, it wasn't a pub. One of those gay clubs. And don't tell me you've never been to one of them," he added as Charlie laughed and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Right. There was a bloke. We, ah, snogged a bit, but..."

"But?"

"He stuck his hand down the front of my jeans, right there in the middle of the crowd!"

"Bit much for your first time?" Charlie said with sympathy.

James sighed, his heartbeat slowing as he realised Charlie wasn't teasing him, and he took another swig to hide his blushing cheeks. "Yeah. I just took off. Felt like a total arse after, and I was afraid to go back."

"You're not an arse. Far from it. You just need to take this at your own pace."

"You wouldn't have run away when you were seventeen."

"You're not me, and you shouldn't try to be. This is all new to you. I know you don't think so, but it's okay to be nervous and all that. It isn't a contest." Charlie shook his head. "Patience isn't one of your stronger attributes, but you need to take your time, and like I said earlier, you need to feel confident in yourself." He finished the last of his beer and pointed the tip of the bottle at James. "And you need to find out whether your bloke swings your way," he said with a grin.

James groaned. "I hate this. I need another beer."

"Nuh-uh," Charlie said, waggling his finger. "You have practice. Although if I got you pissed, maybe you'd tell me his name."

"Not a chance." He smiled despite his anxiety and the fact that suddenly the beer wasn't quite sitting well in his nervous stomach. Dinner was still an hour away, but he wasn't the least bit hungry. He couldn't tell Charlie. Not yet. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Hey, thanks. For not, you know, treating me like I'm completely pathetic. Though I might not forgive you for laughing at me before."

Charlie grinned. "One day, the two of us will get stinking drunk and you'll laugh your own arse off about all this. And like I said, you can come talk to me any time. About anything. I mean that. Your parents'll be okay with it too, you know, whenever you decide to tell them. But believe me; I know that parents are probably the last people you want to talk to about your sex life.

"So," Charlie said, changing the subject, "the Cannons actually won last night. Had an owl from your mum at lunch. She said Ron was so hysterical that your father almost had to take him to St. Mungo's."

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

**Pairings:** Teddy/James, Charlie/Teddy, Charlie/James/Teddy, slight Charlie/James. (Past Teddy/Victoire.

**Warnings:** Underage, Cross-gen. (Age disparity: J-17/T-24/C-51) Kinkwise, this story includes non-graphic rimming, figging, spanking, voyeurism, and dirty talk, as well as general male/male sex acts (oral, frotting, etc.)

Most of the story itself is rated PG-13, but there are two particular scenes with sexual content as described above (In Chapters 3 and 4). Read, don't read; scroll, don't scroll. It's up to you.

.

* * *

**Some Days Are Diamonds (Some Days Are Rocks)**

_Chapter Three (Chapter rating: **Mature**)_

_.  
_

Practice wasn't a disaster by any means, but it was obvious to everyone that James' mind was elsewhere. They'd been running drills for over an hour, and James had spent more time flying around watching than participating.

"You feel all right?" Myles asked as Albus flew by and rolled his eyes at his brother. "Better get your head in the game. Otherwise you'll end up flattened by another Bludger. Bad example for a captain, you know."

James shook his head and shouted to the Beaters. "Watch your vectors! Precision over power!" He turned back to Myles. "That obvious?"

"Jamie, my love, there's very little about you that isn't obvious. I know you've been preoccupied with _something_ all term." Myles raised his eyebrows.

"Prat. Al and Lily got all the subtle genes, I guess." Bugger. First Al, then Charlie, and now Myles. Was he really _that_ obvious about _everything_?

"Anything you want to talk about?" Myles asked. "No joking this time. If I didn't know you better, I'd think I should be worried about you."

James ran his hand through his hair and wished he had the courage to confide in his best friend. He hated keeping secrets, but he wasn't ready. Not yet.

He shrugged. "I'm okay. Just, you know, stuff. Last year of school, N.E.W.T.s coming up."

Myles looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Sure. Well, whatever it is, leave it off the pitch next time. My da heard that a couple of scouts are coming to the first match. You keep zoning out, the only team that'll take you are the Cannons."

"Hey! They won last night, you know."

Myles clapped him on the back. "It was a fluke. Tyler sneezed, nearly fell off his broom, and the snitch flew into his mouth. Your uncle must've gone off his trolley, though."

James laughed. "Yeah, he did a bit. All right," he called out to the team. "Let's pack it in for tonight."

Hugo and Fred secured the Bludgers, and Al and Roxie helped Lily and Ben hunt down the Snitch.

James landed next to the case, and as the others joined him, he added, "Next practice is tomorrow after lunch. We'll run through warm-ups and just have a full on scrimmage, see how the plays we've been working on pan out. Sorry about all the drills tonight, but good work, everyone."

He hung back in the changing rooms after the others left, Myles begging off so he could spend some time with Sarah, and took a long, hot shower, contemplating how to figure out if Teddy 'swung his way', as Charlie had so eloquently put it. The most obvious way was to ask him, which...no, just no. The second-most obvious way was to confess his own proclivities and gauge Teddy's reaction, which was just as unappealing.

He wasn't very accomplished at flirting, and the thought of actively trying to flirt with Teddy made him feel nauseous and not the least bit enthusiastic. He was far too direct, and as he'd told Myles, completely lacking in subtlety. He imagined himself striding up to Teddy and batting his eyelashes, casually tossing his head back as he laughed at something Teddy said; or sitting down next to him, sidling close so their thighs were touching, and ever so casually laying his hand on Teddy's knee.

He rolled his eyes, and reached for the shampoo. "You're going mad, Potter. Mad _and_ gormless to boot."

He rather liked the idea of resting his hand on Teddy's knee, though. And it wasn't as if they'd never touched each other. They used to wrestle a lot when he was younger, and he couldn't count the number of times when one of them was sitting on the sofa in the living room, or lying on a bed reading or listening to Quidditch on the Wireless, and the other would literally pounce like Lily's kneazle; or when Teddy would sling his arm around James' shoulder while they were walking together and ruffle his hair, or grab him in a choke hold.

Teddy didn't touch him as often as he used to, but they couldn't act that way anymore while they were both at Hogwarts. Even if things were still...normal, there was a barrier between them. It didn't matter that Teddy wasn't strictly _his_ professor, Teddy was _a_ professor, and it didn't matter that James was of age and would turn eighteen in less than three months.

Afraid that Teddy would discover his secret, James had lately shied away from their usual casual demeanour, and didn't spend nearly as much time alone with Teddy as he used to. In fact, it had been James who had pushed Teddy away, rather than the other way round. Of course he'd initially done that only because he'd had a raging hard-on at the time, and was mortified that Teddy would notice. Now it seemed like it was coming back to bite him in the arse.

"Mad, gormless, and a bloody coward. You deserve to wank alone for the rest of your life," he told himself with disgust. His cock obviously agreed with the former at the moment, and had retreated into the bushes, so to speak. _Well that's just brilliant, isn't it. Maybe not even alone._ Sighing, he turned off the water and grabbed his towel.

_"...there's very little about you that isn't obvious,"_ Myles had told him.

Merlin's manky balls, what if Al was right and Teddy knew? He hated himself for acting like such a completely adolescent moron.

Every night for the past two weeks, he'd wanked to the memory of Teddy touching his forehead with gentle fingers, whispering in his ear. Of course in his little wanking fantasies, Teddy's fingers had strayed a _lot_ lower than the top of his head, and the things he whispered in James' ear were definitely not fit for polite discussion. Teddy had come to see him after Madam Pomfrey had released him, but he made no mention of having sat by James' bed earlier in the day, and James had convinced himself that he'd dreamt the whole thing. After all, the last thing he'd been thinking before the accident was how bloody gorgeous Teddy looked, sitting there in the stands, so it was only natural he'd dream about him, too.

In fact, he dreamt about Teddy far too frequently for comfort, which probably explained why he was acting like an utter, utter fool all the time lately. He smacked his palm against his forehead, threw his damp towel in the bin, and walked back to his locker to get dressed.

Maybe he _should_ tell Charlie. Charlie wouldn't laugh at him. Well, yes, he would. Probably laugh so hard he'd fall out of his chair, James thought grimly, but he wouldn't be cruel or condescending about it. Once he stopped laughing at any rate.

He picked up his jeans and grimaced at how filthy they were, balled them up and stuffed them into his bag, throwing his robes over his head instead. Nobody in the family had blinked when Teddy and Victoire had dated. Of course, Victoire's father wasn't Teddy's godfather, and Teddy hadn't practically grown up as a third son in their house either.

They'd been together for nearly three years, and everyone was convinced they'd get married. Grandma Molly had practically had their wedding all planned out when Victoire announced she had been accepted into an apprenticeship and was moving to France. When it became clear that Teddy wasn't going with her, everyone had been shocked.

James had been thrilled. Even with Apparation and Portkeys, France was still France, and he'd been miserable at the thought of Teddy being so far away. This had been a year and a half before he'd realised how he felt, and even now he looked back and wondered if he'd known even then, and had simply refused to acknowledge it.

He shrugged, stuffed his feet into his trainers and lifted his feet onto the bench one at a time to tie them. He strapped on his watch, noticing that it was already 9:00. Charlie wouldn't be asleep this early, but he might have gone into Hogsmeade for a drink. Not that it would be a problem to slip out and join him, but Charlie probably wouldn't be alone. In fact, Teddy would likely be out with him.

He took out the map, murmuring the password, and waited for the castle and grounds to form, inky lines seeming to rise to the surface, branching out and connecting. Teddy had given it to him when he'd started his third year, and he treasured it even more than the Invisibility Cloak he and Al had nicked from the family vault that same summer. Al usually kept the cloak, and Rose—and more recently, Lily—had borrowed it on occasion, but the map belonged to him. It was the only real, tangible thing Teddy had that had belonged to his father, and even at thirteen, James knew the measure of trust that it must have taken for Teddy to bequeath it to him, even though his own grandfather—both his namesakes in fact—had been two of the four original mapmakers. He'd leave it for Al next year, but after that, James was determined that Teddy should have it back.

He scanned the map, fixing on Hagrid's hut, and realised belatedly that it never showed the interior. _Bugger._ Well, it wasn't as though it was out of his way. He was just getting ready to clear the map and put it away when he saw Teddy's footsteps approaching the hut. _Bugger!_

He sat down on the bench, feeling somewhat dejected, and watched as Charlie's name appeared at the door, and then both names disappeared as Teddy stepped inside. They would probably sit at the table and drink beer, like he and Charlie had done earlier.

He closed his eyes and pictured the two of them sitting at the table; Charlie in jeans and a white t-shirt underneath an unbuttoned plaid flannel shirt, leaning back on his chair, beer in hand, and Teddy, also in jeans, but wearing a long-sleeved striped rugby shirt, sitting up straight and smiling.

He sighed, opening his eyes and gazing down at the map, and wondered what they were talking about. Likely they were listening to the Harpies' game on the Wireless. Charlie had once dated their manager, who was a former teammate of his mum's.

Charlie wouldn't tell; he'd promised, and despite the teasing, which he knew was good-natured, he trusted Charlie. He loved all of his uncles; Ron and George were always good for a laugh, and Bill was interesting to talk to and had helped him with his Arithmancy on more than one occasion. Percy was a bit stuffy, but he wasn't too bad.

But Charlie had always had this aura of mystery and adventure about him. He knew Uncle Bill had once worked as a curse breaker in Egypt, and in fact it had been Bill who had encouraged Teddy in his Runes studies, but he'd retired from that profession years before James had been born. Charlie, on the other hand, still worked with dragons—although he'd taken a year's absence to teach—which was about as cool a job as anyone could have, save professional Quidditch player. James had completely idolised him as a child. He'd never married, and instead doted on his nieces and nephews, of which there were plenty to go round.

His mum had told him once that Charlie could have played for England, but chose dragons over Quidditch. That one tidbit of information had cemented Charlie as 'the coolest uncle ever' in James' young mind. He still felt that way. Everyone liked Charlie, and if anyone had ever made disparaging remarks about his sexuality, James had never heard it; not even from his fellow students, which was something in and of itself. Even more, Charlie was so laid back and so comfortable with his lifestyle, he wouldn't care if they did.

James wished he could be so at ease with himself, but Charlie had said it would come in time, and he trusted that it would. He just wished it would hurry a bit more.

He sighed, cleared the map, and put it back in his bag. He was stalling and he knew it. He felt around the bottom and pulled out a thin flesh-coloured string, stuffing it into the pocket of his robe next to his wand as he stood up and shouldered his bag. Being the nephew of the owners of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes certainly had its perks.

When he reached the hut, he stood in the shadows of the pumpkin patch, feeling a twinge of guilt at the idea of eavesdropping. A year ago he'd have had no qualms and would have banged unceremoniously on the door without a thought. This year though, things were different; _he_ was different.

He hid his bag behind a large pumpkin, cast a Disillusionment Charm—thank you, Aunt Hermione—and crept to the door, shaking out the Extendable Ear. As the end snaked under the door, he inserted the ear piece, and froze in surprise as he was met with silence. He stood there, mouth agape, until he realised that someone must have cast an Imperturbable Charm. He frowned, glancing at the front window, and noticed for the first time that the curtains were drawn.

He tiptoed along the length of the hut, ducking his head out of habit as he passed each window, but the curtains were drawn along all of them. He slipped around the back where the ground sloped down at an angle, and saw the faintest sliver of light knifing through one of the high windows. The bottom ledge of the window was a few inches above his head, and he didn't quite fancy floating himself up there. As quietly as he could, he Summoned one of the empty water barrels from the garden, turned it upside down below the window, and climbed on top, squatting as he peered inside.

He gasped, ducked quickly, and nearly fell off the barrel.

His heart was thudding so loudly, he was sure they could hear it all the way in Hogsmeade. His hands felt clammy, sweat prickled on his temples and along the back of his neck, and his legs felt like jelly. He clumsily shoved his wand in his pocket, placing both of his hands on either side of the window to steady himself as he peered once again through the rent in the curtain. He blinked, shook his head in disbelief, and blinked again, eyes wide.

Teddy was lying on his side on Charlie's enormous bed, knees slightly bent, left elbow crooked, head resting on his open palm. His fingers were hidden in his hair, blue and softly curling at the nape of his neck, almost iridescent in the bright candlelight. He looked completely relaxed and comfortable.

He was also completely naked.

James had a perfect view of Teddy's bottom, and he stared, unabashed, suppressing a moan as he licked his dry lips with an equally dry tongue. Teddy looked utterly breathtaking, and as James sucked in a slow breath of his own, he discovered a new appreciation for the word.

His cock sprung to life, obviously recovered from its earlier sulk, and he squeezed himself through his robes, afraid he might come on the spot. Teddy's arse was pale next to his tanned back, the demarcation just below the two slight indentations on either side of his lower spine. He was long limbed and thin, but not skinny, shoulders not quite broad, but nicely shaped.

James had seen Teddy shirtless countless times over the years, but had never been at liberty to really _look_ before. He looked now. His lightly muscled back was smooth, his spine a shallow groove between prominent shoulder blades, and he quivered as though he were laughing. Perhaps he was. The utter silence coming from the hut was vaguely unnerving.

Teddy rolled over onto his back and sat up quickly. James pulled back from the window, wobbling slightly on his precarious perch. _Idiot! _he scolded silently. It had been more instinctive than anything, though his thighs were starting to burn from squatting in such an awkward position. He was fairly confident he couldn't be seen with the charm on, but he felt as naked as Teddy without the comfort of the invisibility cloak. He took another breath, swallowing over the lump in his throat, and bent towards the window.

Teddy was sitting on the edge of the bed, his cock hard and jutting from a soft nest of blue curls between his legs. _Mother of Merlin!_ James squeezed himself harder, feeling dizzy as his blood rushed from his head to points south. He forced himself not to press his nose directly against the glass.

Charlie appeared in his frame of view, emerging from the front of the hut, and James pulled away from the window so quickly that he nearly did fall this time, his fingers scrabbling against the wall to keep his balance. Fuck! He'd forgotten all about Charlie, which, now that he thought about it, heart pounding loudly in his ears, was really fucking stupid. He bloody lived here, didn't he?

_No..._

He steadied himself, feeling sick, his stomach roiling like a nest of snakes. He should go. He wanted to go, to run as far away as possible, but curiosity and sheer bloody-mindedness got the better of him, and he bent once again toward the window, holding his breath.

Charlie was wearing an unbuttoned red, white, and black checked flannel shirt, sleeves casually rolled up below his elbows, and nothing else. There was a large reddish burn mark on his right thigh, the scar smooth with age, but Teddy's eyes were riveted on his uncle's large red cock peeking through the front tails of his shirt. It wasn't at all freckled like the rest of him, but it wasn't freckles or lack thereof that caused the sudden pang of despondency to wash over him. Charlie was hung like a bloody Erumpent, and it left James feeling small, pathetic and woefully inadequate.

Charlie sat down beside Teddy on the bed and pulled him close for a deep kiss. James squeezed his eyes shut, the urge to run warring with the urge to keep watching, and he couldn't stop the small, strangled whimper from escaping his painfully constricted throat. He clenched his fists. He would _not_ cry, damn it!

He willed himself to breathe, in through his nose, out through his mouth, more deeply each time until he felt as though he had a modicum of control. His hands hurt from clenching them so hard, but he steeled himself and opened his eyes...

The sensation of falling took him by surprise and he flailed his arms, windmilling them in a desperate attempt to regain his balance. He clenched his jaw to keep from crying out, and landed flat on his back on the grass.

He cursed himself, rubbed the back of his head, and rolled against the side of the hut, keeping as still and silent as possible. He counted to ten, but there was no sound except for the rustling of the leaves of the trees in the forest and the faint hooting of an owl. When nobody appeared at the window to investigate, he got to his feet, brushed off his robes, and quickly clambered back onto the barrel, his heartbeat reverberating inside his head. He couldn't have seen what he thought...

Charlie still had his face pressed against Teddy's arse, thumbs spreading his cheeks apart as Teddy writhed beneath him. James blinked several times in succession, but the image didn't change. Teddy was lying on his chest, back and neck arched with his forehead against the bed, arms extended above his head. His hands clutched at the sheets, his arse high in the air. James felt lightheaded until he remembered that breathing was somewhat necessary if he didn't want to black out.

Despite everything, his cock was painfully hard, and his hole convulsed reflexively as he watched Charlie fucking Teddy with his tongue. Charlie's mouth was hidden by the smooth curve of Teddy's left cheek, but from Teddy's frantic thrusting, he had no trouble imagining what it felt like.

Eyes still riveted, he ignored his shaky legs, reached beneath his robes. He spread his legs awkwardly, shoved his pants aside, and gripped himself, gasping as he stroked hard and frantic, his jaw moving rhythmically in time with Charlie's as he imagined his own mouth on Teddy's arse...

He ducked his head, gasping, wiping his sticky fingers on his pants, dizzy and euphoric from the rush of his orgasm. He gulped air as though he were drowning, calming himself, and shifted his position to something more comfortable.

Teddy was still lying prone, Charlie kneeling behind him, but he was using his fingers now. After a few minutes, though it seemed like hours to James, Charlie withdrew his hand, said something James couldn't hear, and lightly slapped Teddy's arse. Teddy raised himself onto his elbows, looked over his shoulder and spoke to Charlie, who bent and picked something up that had been resting on the bed beside Teddy. James squinted and leant forward, his breath fogging the glass of the window. Charlie held something curved and vaguely misshapen along the flank, a rather sickly looking yellow colour, though it gleamed as though wet, brown and lumpy at the bottom.

It looked almost like a root, but...

James raised his eyebrows in disbelief as Charlie spread Teddy again, and slowly slid the fleshy, peeled root—Merlin! It had to be that ginger root from the cold cupboard!—inside Teddy's arse until only a thick whitish-brown knob remained. He moved so that he was kneeling just behind Teddy's left side, speaking the entire time, and James wished he could hear what Charlie was saying. Was it ordinary conversation, instructions, an explanation for the ginger? Or, he thought, swallowing thickly, were the words filthy intimations of more things to come?

Charlie was still talking as his fingertips skimmed over the pale skin of Teddy's arse, and before James could decide on their imagined dialogue or make heads or tails of why on earth Teddy was impaled by a ginger root, Charlie swung his right hand, palm open, and smacked Teddy hard on his bottom.

James flinched, though there was no sound, and he gaped in surprise and confusion. Charlie smacked him again and again, Teddy's body taut and glistening with sweat, lurching forward with each blow. The pale skin of his arse had taken on a red flush where he could see it, and James was utterly mesmerised. It looked painful, but oh, it was beautiful. He wanted to rub his face over it, kiss the flushed skin that would be warm and smooth beneath his lips. He pressed his fingers hard against the wooden wall of the hut, ignoring the sharp jab of a splinter.

Charlie's hand flashed again, another quick slap, and James flinched along with Teddy. Despite the imposed silence of the Imperturbable Charm, he could almost hear Teddy cry out. In pain or pleasure? His own arse tingled as he imagined the shock of the blows and he was startled to feel his cock stirring back to life.

Charlie was gently running his fingertips over the glowing skin of Teddy's arse, his mouth still moving with unheard words. James glanced up at Teddy's face, which was turned toward him now, eyes closed, and he was breathing heavily through his open mouth, his chest heaving. The hair falling across his forehead was damp with sweat, his nose was scrunched, eyebrows drawn, and his lips were slightly puffy as though he'd bitten them. He looked almost as though he were in agony, but he hadn't tried to move away, and it was clear to James that he liked what Charlie was doing to him.

Charlie scooted around to the head of the bed and lay down against the pillows, propping himself up against the headboard. He spread his legs wide, and even at a distance, James could see fluid glistening on the tip of his cock. It was nearly as red as Teddy's arse, and it bobbed against Charlie's stomach as he positioned himself. Then Charlie grinned and crooked his finger at Teddy, beckoning.

Teddy licked his lips and crawled across the bed on his knees. He wriggled between Charlie's legs, hands on Charlie's thighs, bent his head, and James watched in both fascination and horror as Charlie's cock slowly disappeared between Teddy's swollen lips.

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

**Pairings:** Teddy/James, Charlie/Teddy, Charlie/James/Teddy, slight Charlie/James. (Past Teddy/Victoire.

**Warnings:** Underage, Cross-gen. (Age disparity: J-17/T-24/C-51) Kinkwise, this story includes non-graphic rimming, figging, spanking, voyeurism, and dirty talk, as well as general male/male sex acts (oral, frotting, etc.)

Most of the story itself is rated PG-13, but there are two particular scenes with sexual content as described above. (Chapters 3 and 4) Read, don't read; scroll, don't scroll. It's up to you.

.

* * *

**Some Days Are Diamonds (Some Days Are Rocks)**

_Chapter Four (Chapter rating: **Mature**)_

_.  
_

He woke with his skull pounding.

_Christ, not again_, he thought, and moaned softly. His stomach heaved and he turned on his side, retching over the edge of the bed.

"I doubt there's anything left," a voice said above him, and he cringed.

"Not so loud," he whimpered, gasping and wiping his mouth with his hand.

The voice laughed, and through the fog in his head, he realised it was Charlie.

He turned over onto his stomach and groping, covered his head with a soft, fluffy pillow. "Bugger off," he mumbled into the sheets. _And for the love of Merlin, get this skull-crushing hex off me,_ he thought, moaning. Even the pillow hurt his head.

"I should leave you alone to suffer, you daft idiot, except you're in my bed, and if McGonagall or Pomfrey see you like this, you'll be lucky to escape expulsion. What the hell made you think going out on a bender like that was a good idea?"

"Can't think," he gasped. "Argh, my fucking head."

Charlie tsked at him. "Maybe you'll think twice next time. You're bloody lucky Aberforth fire-called me and not McGonagall."

"Aberforth?" he said. "Dumbledore?" An image of the ancient barman pouring him a smoking shot of something green forced its way past the cloud of confusion in his mind.

Charlie exhaled loudly, and James felt the bed dip beside him. Charlie rubbed his back lightly. "I'd blame him for letting you get so stinking pissed, only he was right. You're of age and can spend your Galleons any way you like. However I strongly disagree with him about you not needing a bloody minder." Charlie smacked James' bum lightly

"Ouch," he said, although it didn't hurt. His head, on the other hand... "Don't need—" He froze mid-sentence and a shudder went through him. Charlie's broad open palm smacking Teddy's bare arse, the pale skin reddening with each stroke...

_Fuck!_ It hadn't been another Bludger after all.

"C'mon, kiddo," Charlie said, pulling the covers off him. "Sit up and drink this. Works like a charm. Literally. You'll feel just like new after, I promise. Then you can tell me all about it. It was either a hell of a row, or..." Charlie's arms were around his torso, lifting him up onto his knees, "Shit, did you tell your bloke then? Didn't go well?"

"Don't touch me," James said, stiffening. He tried to wriggle out of Charlie's grasp, slapping at his hands, and his stomach heaved again. "Oh, God," he said, and bent over, holding his stomach, still squirming away from Charlie.

"Stop fighting me," Charlie said. "I swear I'll Petrify you and pour this stuff down your throat myself. I'd prefer not to treat you like a sprog, but if you keep acting like one, I won't have a choice." Charlie leant his chest against James' back, holding a goblet in front of James mouth. "Now drink."

James wrenched the goblet from Charlie's hands, nearly spilling its contents on the bed, and gulped it down. His splitting headache vanished and the fog in his head cleared.

"Better?"

James didn't reply. He looked down, noticed he was wearing nothing but his pants and socks, kneeling on Charlie's bed. He glanced at the window to his left, and the memories of the prior evening came flooding back.

Teddy, naked on Charlie's bed, Charlie's face buried between Teddy's arse cheeks, Charlie's cock sliding eagerly between Teddy's lips right over...there. He looked to his right and swallowed over the painful lump in his throat, hugging his arms around his chest.

"Where are my robes," he asked in a strangled voice. And where was Teddy? Had he stayed the night, too? Had the three of them slept in the gigantic bed together?

"Right here. I cleaned them for you, too. Repulsive mess they were, and you as well, so you'd better be grateful you little wretch," Charlie said lightly, holding them out. "Uh-uh" he said, pulling them back as James reached for them. "Not so fast. What were you doing drinking like that? And alone at the Hog's Head? Are you mad?"

James scowled, shrugging his shoulders. "Felt like it."

Charlie narrowed his eyes at him and James turned away, found himself looking at that damn spot again, where Teddy had crawled, arse in the air... He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart thudding painfully in his chest, but the image was seared in his brain. _Shit!_ He had to get out of here.

"Just give me my robes. I want to leave," he said, not looking at his uncle, his voice cold.

Charlie was silent for what felt like an age, then tossed James' robes on the bed and moved away. James grabbed them and pulled them over his head. He heard Charlie clanking about in the little kitchenette and relaxed a fraction. Spotting his trainers on the floor, he clambered out of bed and stuffed his feet into them, turning to exit through the rear door into Hagrid's pumpkin patch.

"James," Charlie called.

James froze, hand on the doorknob.

"Ah, forget it. I'm not going to lecture you. If it _was_ about your bloke, I'm sorry things didn't go well. If you want to talk about it later..." James heard him sigh. "Go on and get some sleep. You've got practice this afternoon if I'm not mistaken. You should eat something, too, but don't overdo it. And remember," Charlie's voice followed him out the door. "You owe me one, kid."

_Right,_ James thought as he jogged back to the castle. _I'll remember that, you bloody bastard of a Pettigrew._

~*~

"James!"

A cold sweat broke out on James' forehead and he walked faster, head down, hands clenched at his sides.

"James. _Jamie!_" Teddy said, panting lightly as he grabbed James' arm. "Wait up a sec, will you?" Teddy's grin faded into a slight frown as he looked at James, and James wished he were anywhere else right now.

"Where were you Sunday? I waited for over an hour. Thought we were going to go flying?"

James shrugged and looked past Teddy's shoulder, focusing on a discoloured stone in the wall. "Forgot," he mumbled.

"Hey," Teddy said, looking at James intently. "You okay?"

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, I _wish_ everyone would stop asking me that!" he spluttered. "I'm _fine!_ In fact," he said and laughed harshly, "I've never been better. So stop worrying about me and mind your own bloody business. Plenty enough there to keep you busy, yeah?" he added, and stalked away without looking back.

He didn't need to; he'd seen the hurt expression on Teddy's face.

_"Damn it!"_ he said, squeezing his fist, and took off running down the corridor.

~*~

"You're late, Mr Potter," Professor Dagworth said, frowning as James slid onto his stool next to Myles and began setting up his cauldron, unpacking his potions equipment. "Five points from Gryffindor."

James rolled his eyes as Myles whispered, "Where were you?"

James shrugged and laid out his knife, scales, mortar and pestle, glanced up at the board and set out arranging the necessary ingredients. Brilliant. Another bloody healing potion, he thought, grumbling to himself, and opened his book to the correct page.

"Here," Myles said, sliding three pinging pinguicula pods, two sopophorous beans, a lemon, and a large, fresh ginger root across the countertop. "I got these for you from the cupboard."

James glanced up quickly and muttered "Thanks," turning back to light the fire beneath his cauldron. He froze, mid-incantation, and the flames leapt up, engulfing his cauldron and nearly singing his fringe and eyebrows. Myles yelped and grabbed James by his collar, yanking him back, and flicked his wand to extinguish the budding inferno.

"Mr Potter!" Professor Dagworth shouted.

"Merlin's balls, James. What is _wrong_ with you?" Myles said, clearly exasperated as he flicked his wand again, this time to ignite a proper low flame beneath James' cauldron.

James stared at the ginger root, his pulse hammering. He narrowed his eyes and scowled at it, and fought the urge to hurl it across the room.

"Oi. You coming down with something?" Myles asked, "Or was getting your skull knocked in or nearly drinking yourself to death not enough for you so you've decided to try incineration instead?"

James took a deep breath and attempted to school his features. "I'm fine," he said.

"You're not fine. You were a right prat all weekend, and you've been a right nutter all term. I'm not kidding, Jamie. It's not like you to be this careless."

"Sorry," James muttered.

Myles snorted and James turned to him, sighing. "No, really. I don't know what's wrong with me." Except that he did know, and a finger of guilt crept up to nudge at his spine.

"Stuff," Myles said, rolling his eyes. "You gonna tell me about this _stuff_, or shall I go on thinking you've gone mad? Or suicidal."

"Gentlemen," Professor Dagworth said from too close behind them, and James' skin prickled uncomfortably. "This is a Potions class, not a therapeutic symposium. If you've indeed gone mad, Mr Potter, which I assure you would not surprise me in the least, I suggest you take your leave immediately and visit Madam Pomfrey. Otherwise, I would appreciate it if you ceased with the chit-chat, unless you would both prefer to spend your evening in detention."

"Sorry, professor," Myles said, and gave James a look as he turned back to his own cauldron.

James glanced at his book, added distilled water, the juice of a medium-sized lemon, one drop of belladonna essence, and six drops of murtlap essence to his cauldron, stirred it ten times anticlockwise, and turned to prepare the rest of his ingredients. The pinging pods were jumping about and making a right ruckus. He ignored them and reached for the ginger root, his hand shaking.

_Bugger it all to hell,_ he thought, and blanched as the vivid image of a moist, peeled ginger root sliding into Teddy's arse appeared before his eyes. He swallowed thickly and shook his head as a wave of arousal swept over him. _Damn it!_

He grabbed his knife and the root, glowering at it, and set to peeling it with swift, jerky strokes.

"What did that poor root ever do to you," Myles whispered close to his ear, and James yelped as his knife slipped.

He stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth, grimacing, and turned to glare at Myles.

"Not my fault," Myles said, shrugging. "You were mutilating the thing. What did it do? Steal your girlfriend?"

_Yes!_ he wanted to shout. He grunted and turned away, examining his finger. Just a nick. He turned to finish peeling the ginger, and flinched as his cut finger touched the newly exposed flesh of the root. He pulled his hand away and shook it. _Bugger, that burned! Bloody stupid r—_

He froze mid-thought as a warm flush crept up his neck to his cheeks. Merlin's bollocks on a broomstick! He could see it so clearly: Teddy wriggling on the bed, the rapturous, almost pained expression on his face, the smug, hungry look on Charlie's as he inserted the root inside Teddy with such care...

He'd thought it strange at the time, perhaps a makeshift dildo of sorts or some bizarre perversion of Charlie's, but now he realised what it must have felt like for Teddy, and he bit his lip hard, blinking. Absently he reached for the root and finished peeling it, began slicing it, imagining the sting of the oil on his finger burning in other places. He weighed and then dropped the roots into his simmering cauldron, added ten drops of salamander blood, and started pounding the pinging pods one by one with his pestle, hearing the slap of Charlie's open palm with each stroke as he pulverised the pods into a pulp.

The pulp was a pinkish red colour, and he dumped it—still pinging—into the cauldron. He reached for a pinch of powdered unicorn horn and added it to the bubbling mixture, his mind preoccupied with how gorgeous Teddy's arse had looked; perhaps a shade or two lighter than the pod pulp.

The powder hissed as it struck the liquid contents of the cauldron, and James stirred it; five times clockwise, twelve times anticlockwise—or was it supposed to be ten? He squinted at the page in his potions book just as Myles placed a small bottle of iridescent powder beside his book.

"Thanks," Myles said.

"For what?" he replied absently, the word 'anticlockwise' on the page reminding him of Charlie's fingers gently twisting the ginger root...

Myles heaved a sigh and gestured at the bottle. "For letting me borrow your powdered unicorn horn. Didn't you hear me ask?"

James shook his head and frowned. No, he was right. Twelve times anticlock—

"Wait, you borrowed my unicorn horn?" he asked, eyes wide. He looked over at his potions ingredients and saw his bottle of powdered bicorn horn sitting rather incongruously beside the two sopophorous beans, uncorked.

"Oh, shit! Duck!" he cried as his cauldron exploded.

~*~

Myles was waiting up for him when he returned from detention that night. Professor Dagworth, the sadistic bastard, had made him peel, slice, pound, and dry nearly a bloody bushel of ginger root. His hands reeked of it, even after he washed them four times, and he was at the point of wanting to hex his nose off.

"Whew. You stink. That bad?" Myles asked in a low voice. Everyone else was already asleep.

Madame Pomfrey had healed their burns and boils, and regrown Myles' eyebrows and eyelashes, tutting at them the entire time. Myles had laughed, grateful, he'd said, that it hadn't been powdered Erumpent horn, but he looked at James now with a worried expression on his face.

James shook his head and pulled his robes over his head, tossing them and missing the clothes hamper. "Ah, bugger it," he muttered, slipping on his pyjama bottoms. His hands were still warm, too. "Nah, just a pain in the arse is all." _Too right,_ he thought, twitching instinctively.

Myles grunted. "Could have been worse. Remember last year when he had us literally dissect and cannibalise that huge bucket of frogs and lizards for ingredients? Ugh, I still have nightmares about the eyeballs." He closed his textbook, rolled up his essay and put them away, sitting on the edge of his bed. "So who is she?"

James licked his dry lips. "Who's who?"

"The bird who has you so worked up you can't see straight. Did something happen over summer holiday? After I saw you at the Cup? You seemed all right then."

James shook his head again. "No, I'm f—"

"If you tell me you're fine again, I'll hex your knob off."

James grinned, his first real smile in days. "Might solve some of my problems if you did, though I'd have to kill you, and I doubt my dad would appreciate having to cart his own son off to Azkaban."

Myles let out a slow breath. "All right. I won't press you. For now at any rate. But promise me one thing."

James cocked his head.

"Stop trying to bloody kill yourself, yeah? Your parents would appreciate that even less than Azkaban. So would I."

~*~

~*~

He walks through endless dim corridors, candles in sconces flickering blue as he passes. He's searching for something he can't quite discern, yet he knows he needs to find it. He has to have it, needs it desperately, and his chest aches with the wanting. Peeves flies by, performing acrobatic flips in the air and pelting him with chalk, asks him if he'd like to have tea.

He hears a loud roar that makes Peeves cackle with glee, and he begins to run down a long, narrow corridor, finding himself out on the great lawn. Charlie is riding a dragon, soaring high above the castle, though James can see his face clearly as though he were gliding along beside him, each freckle standing out on his nose and cheeks, the back of his hands, his hair shining red and gold in the sun.

Charlie lands next to the Whomping Willow and dismounts. He pats the dragon on its neck, but the dragon ignores him as it cosies up to the thrashing tree. Professor Longbottom is wearing the Sorting Hat and standing on a giant pumpkin, smoking a long, curving pipe, and kicking old Grammenhammer in the head each time the old codger tries to grab at his leg and pull him off the pumpkin. He's scolding the dragon, shaking his finger and warning it not to breathe too close to the tree, even as small green flames surge from the bowl of his pipe and threaten to lick at the branches, waving like leafy tentacles.

Charlie seems oblivious to all of this. He sees James and waves, walks toward him through high drifts of snow. Students are milling around the grounds, dressed in summer robes and Muggle jeans and t-shirts, and they call out greetings to Charlie as he passes.

"There you are. We've been waiting for you," Charlie says.

_We?_

"You found us," Teddy whispers in his ear, and a prickle runs up James' spine. Teddy's fingers comb through James' hair and James wiggles his toes, leaning back into the touch. The snow is soft and powdery against his bare feet, cool but not cold. A warm wind touches his cheeks and a smoky fog slowly rolls in. He can see blurs of bright colour through the thickening mist, hears snatches of conversation. Teddy kisses the nape of his neck, rubs against his back like a cat, and James tries to turn around but he's frozen in place. Charlie is still approaching, and he can't take his eyes off his uncle.

"You found us," Charlie echoes Teddy, and stops less than a foot from James. There's a glint in his eye as he reaches a hand to stroke James' cheek. "Knew you'd come," Charlie says right before he leans in and kisses him.

Charlie's mouth is wet and hot, his tongue precise. He licks deeply into James' mouth, running his tongue along the roof of it, against James' tongue with long, caressing strokes. His fingers knead James' shoulders, his upper arms, thumbs pressing into flesh and muscle in just the right place, in perfect time with each swipe of his tongue. James' stomach flutters, his prick hard and pulsing with heat.

"How does he taste?" Teddy says.

Charlie's lips encircle James tongue and tighten, sucking as he pulls back slowly, releases it almost reluctantly.

"Find out for yourself," Charlie says, and a shudder rolls through James as Charlie kisses him again, while Teddy presses against his back and sucks on the side of his neck. It's the most brilliant thing he's ever felt and he doesn't care if it's wrong. He moans into the kiss and pushes back against Teddy.

Charlie raises James' arms over his head. There's a slight pressure around his wrists as though invisible fingers are clutching at them, and when he tries to lower his arms, he finds that he can't.

"Caught you," Charlie says, and his hand are deftly untying the knot of James' dressing gown sash. "That's better," Charlie says as the gown falls to the ground, leaving James exposed. "Want to see you. So pretty, aren't you?" He runs a finger down the length of James' cock, grins and leans in to whisper in James' ear. "I know what you want," he says and edges around him.

James swallows and licks his lips. "Yes," he says, almost a moan, though he's not quite sure what it is he wants. He's not sure what he's supposed to do, either.

"Don't worry," Teddy says, answering his thought. "We'll take good care of you. Be a good boy for us, won't you Jamie? Now hush while I have a taste."

He hears a swift intake of breath and a wet slurping sound, and realises that Charlie and Teddy are snogging behind him. He turns to look over his shoulder and sees them out of the corner of his eye. Teddy's eyes are closed, but Charlie is watching James.

He draws back from Teddy and grins, and James feels a finger running down his spine, through the crease of his arse. Charlie steps close behind him. "Spread your legs for me, kiddo," he says, his voice soft and gravelly. "Want to see what's between them."

James twitches, feeling lightheaded, and obeys.

"Wider," Charlie says and splays his hand on James' back, bending him forward. "Oh, that's good," he says. "So good," and his finger is back between James arse cheeks. "Bet nobody's ever touched you here before. You want to be touched, don't you, Jamie?"

"Y-yes," James stammers. "Please." _Oh, God._

"See you in class, Professor Lupin," Lavinia Moon's voice comes eerily out of the fog, and Teddy waves, smiling at the blur of powder blue robes. "Such a lovely day, isn't it? Enjoy yourself, Potter."

"Oh, he will," Charlie nearly growls, his hands massaging James' arse cheeks, and James thinks he should cover himself up, a flit of concern at being so exposed in public niggling at him. Something is off, he knows this, knows he shouldn't be here though he can't quite grasp at the threads. Charlie's hands are distracting, his touch feather light. James convulses, needy and wanting, his cock so hard it hurts.

His arms are around Teddy's neck, still bound invisibly at the wrists and resting against Teddy's shoulders as Charlie bends him forward, head against Teddy's chest. He stares down at Teddy's erect cock and licks his lips. It looks so far away, almost as though Teddy's torso is unusually long. He wishes he was closer, wants to touch it, and twitches his arms, but Teddy rubs James' back between his shoulder blades and murmurs, "Later. Relax."

Charlie is still touching him, rubbing his face against James' arse cheeks. James knows what's coming next, twitches in anticipation and gasps, "Please, oh, please."

He hears a low chuckle, and inhales sharply as Charlie pressed forward.

Teddy's arms around him tighten as James utters an inarticulate cry. His knees give and he clenches, but Teddy holds him in place. "Like that, do you?" Teddy says in a breathy voice.

Yes, he likes it; likes it so much he can barely breathe, and he nods, his breath coming in short gasps. Oh, God, Charlie's tongue…and Teddy watching. Goosebumps ripple across his skin. It feels so fucking good he never wants it to end, wants to spend the rest of his life coming, over and over again.

"Not yet," Teddy says as Charlie pulls away. James mewls, a strangled cry of regret, and Charlie slaps his arse cheek lightly.

"Not done with you yet," Charlie says, and James moans as something less pliant slides inside him. Charlie's thick, blunted fingers, he thinks. He can't quite tell. It doesn't matter. The fog moves in and swirls round inside his head. He's floating with his feet still on the ground, hanging around Teddy's neck like a twelve stone locket, his skin tingling, pulse throbbing.

It should hurt, he thinks through the fog, but the only pain he feels is from his cock, pulsing in time with his rapid heartbeat, aching for release. Even the air around him is vibrating, a rhythmic, pervasive fog, light as a whisper on his skin, loud as thunder in his ears. His hips thrust almost of their own volition, and the fingers move faster; force him against Teddy who braces them both against the onslaught.

"So fucking gorgeous," Charlie says in a low voice. "Ride it out, Jamie. Good boy. Such a sweet arse. I could eat you all day. Fuck you all night."

_Oh, fuck. Merlin's balls, I need to come, please let me come._ His voice echoes all around him, reverberating off the castle walls, the mountains in the distance, the trees, lapping in waves against the lakeshore.

"Not yet," Teddy says again. The fingers vanish and James whimpers, his knees shaking.

"Patience. We'll teach you, show you things you've never imagined," Teddy says as Charlie slides something slick and cool inside James' arse. "Soon," he whispers. "Wait. Relax now."

He's not sure how much more he can take. They're playing with him, teasing him. It's both maddening and exhilarating, and every nerve in his body is firing. His skin prickles, sensitive to every touch; if he concentrates, he thinks he could discern each individual snowflake between his toes. His arse is tingling, warm and growing warmer, hot, burning now. Beads of sweat break out on his forehead, his neck, back, between his legs. He wriggles, trying to free himself, blinking back tears from his eyes, his legs heavy as he stumbles. _Oh, God!_

Charlie smacks him across his arse cheeks with a loud slap.

James gasps out loud. Time seems to stop. He's frozen in place, legs spread, bent over on an angle, arms locked above his head, his arse burning, stinging, his cock throbbing with need.

Time resumes in slow motion. Teddy ducks out from under James' arms and kneels on the ground before him, licks his lips.

"Should we stop?" Charlie whispers in his ear, runs his fingers along the skin he just slapped. "We will. All you have to do is ask. I think you like it, though. I think you want more. Should we give you more?"

Teddy leans slowly forward, inches from James' cock. "Let me taste you," he whispers.

"Please," James croaks in a shattered voice, and watches his cock disappear between Teddy's red, swollen lips. Time jerks back to normal, and he gasps. He has no idea how or why he's still standing upright; his knees buckled ages ago.

"Pretty," Charlie murmurs over James' shoulder, and James yelps as Charlie's palm connects once again with sensitive flesh. James flinches, thrusting forward on instinct, driven deeper into Teddy's mouth. The line between pain and pleasure is razor thin and sharp; they still won't let him come despite his begging. He knows it's close, so close. _Please!_ He bites his lip, thinks he might just die here and welcome.

Charlie smacks him again, and yet again, each time forcing James deeper into Teddy's gorgeous mouth, until…

"Yes!" James cries out, nearly sobbing in relief, and closes his eyes, bucking hard. "Oh, fuck, oh, oh, oh, God..."

"James!"

He opens his eyes almost against his will, and Albus is standing behind Teddy, clearly visible despite the swirling fog. He's wearing his Quidditch kit and shaking his finger at James in admonishment.

"I told you! Now look what you've done. We'll never beat Slytherin now...now...now..."

*

He woke gasping; he was sweating, his pyjamas sticky with both sweat and come. His heart was racing, his arse convulsing, still feeling the dream echoes of Charlie's hand, Teddy's mouth, the burn of the ginger. The blankets felt heavy, pressing down on him and making it hard to breathe, but he had no energy to kick them off.

"You okay, James?" Stuart Holtcomb's voice sounded loud in the darkness.

James swallowed, tried to slow his breaths, found his voice. "Fine," he croaked.

He heard the rustle of bedclothes, and then blessed silence as Stuart rolled over and fell back asleep.

_Oh, fuck!_ he though, lying on his back. A dream; it was a dream. Of course it was a dream. But far too much of it had felt all too real. His skin tingled, rippled with gooseflesh as flickers of the dream flashed through his head. Too real.

His breathing steadied and he mustered the energy to roll onto his side, groping on the night table for his wand.

"_Scourgify_," he muttered. It didn't help. His pyjamas were clean—well, clean_er_—but he still felt dirty. Filthy. A great stonking randy pervert. Not even a shower would help.

_"I've definitely not got a thing for Charlie, I promise you,"_ he'd said to Al.

Disgusted, James flung his wand to the side. It rolled off the edge of the bed and hit the floor with a sharp clicking sound. _Shit._ He groaned and rolled onto his side, covering his head with his arms and digging his fingers into his skull. If only he could reach inside and rip the fucking thing out. He thought briefly about a Pensieve, until he remembered that you didn't actually remove a memory, you merely pulled out a copy, and Merlin forbid anyone ever saw it if he tried.

Maybe it's just an after-effect of the concussion. He could be suffering a reaction to one of the potions Madam Pomfrey had forced down his throat. Or the Hangover Potion Charlie had given him. Maybe someone spiked his pumpkin juice with one of Uncle George's Delusion Draughts. That was an idea.

_You wish, Potter._

Maybe he could get someone from the Ministry to Obliviate him. Aunt Hermione could probably do it. Did that work for dreams?

He rolled onto his stomach and pressed his face into his pillow, snaking his arms beneath it. He turned his face to the side when his breath gave out and sighed deeply, closed his eyes.

Immediately, vivid images from the dream played before his eyes, like a Muggle film, but even sharper. He could feel the wisps of fog on his face; smell the strong, distinct odour of the ginger laced with the musk of sex, and his arse clenched as he felt an echo of the fullness inside; a flick of a tongue, the swift, deep pulse of fingers, the intense burn of the ginger oil.

He opened his eyes wide and gasped aloud, his heart hammering in his chest.

_Shit! Buggering shit and fuck!_

Sighing in resignation, he turned onto his back and stared up into the darkness, waiting for the dawn.

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

**Some Days Are Diamonds (Some Days Are Rocks)**

_Chapter Five (Chapter rating: PG-13)_

"Mr Potter."

"Mmmmm," James moaned into his forearm and slapped absently at his head. His hand felt as though it weighed ten stone. _Go 'way. 'M busy counting my conkers._

"Mr Potter?"

He turned his head to the side and snuggled more comfortably into the crook of his elbow. _Two hundred thirty-seven..._

"_Mister_ Potter!"

He jumped up as something jabbed him hard in the side, nearly upsetting his chair. "Get your grubby hands off my conkers!" he shouted.

"Well, I never!"

The class burst out laughing, but as Professor Bolingbroke stomped and screeched, they subsided into low chuckles and snickers and jokes about 'handling conkers'. She shook her head imperiously and straightened her hat, cleared her throat.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your rude cheek, and three days detention for sleeping in my class!"

~*~

He managed to turn up for Care of Magical Creatures, tempted as he was to skive off or even drop the class completely. He didn't even bother to pretend he was paying attention, and spent the class time alternating between scowling and glowering at Charlie. Charlie, for his part, simply ignored him and only spoke to him when necessary, professor to student.

Teddy, when he saw him, usually in the Great Hall at meals, looked at him with an expression so grave and sympathetic it hurt to see. James feigned indifference, buried it deep, and took solace in his anger. Anger was easy, much easier than anguish, and it didn't hurt as much. It was also easier to blame Charlie than to blame himself.

It was obvious to everyone that something was wrong, but when his friends and family approached him, he brushed off their concerns, told them all to bugger off, or ignored them completely.

After a while, hardly anyone bothered to speak to him at all.

~*~

"Where's your homework, Mr Potter?"

James shrugged. He was in a particularly bad mood today. He should have been doing his homework last night, but instead he'd sat in his bed, curtains drawn, and watched Teddy walk down to Charlie's on the map for the seventh time in two weeks.

He'd spent the next three hours alternating between rage and despair; trying to ignore a raging hard-on and a perverse desire to run down there and watch, and debating which would be the most satisfying way to set fire to the stupid little hut.

Finishing his Arithmancy homework hadn't exactly been a high priority.

"I'm waiting, Mr Potter."

James curled his lip. "Then I suppose you can keep waiting until I finish it."

"Five points from Gryffindor, and you will come to my office after dinner for the rest of the week each night until all of your class assignments for the day are complete. If you cannot see fit to complete them on your own, you will do them under supervision. Please take your seat."

~*~

Headmistress McGonagall set down her quill and looked at him pointedly over the rim of her glasses.

He slouched in his chair, glancing up at the Sorting Hat on its shelf behind her. It looked rather out of place compared to the other fancy objects and gilt-framed portraits that decorated the office. Stifling a yawn, he set his jaw, effecting a brooding expression that matched his emotional state.

"I've been hearing some very disturbing things about your behaviour over these last few weeks, Mr Potter."

James snorted. Disturbing? She didn't even know the half of it.

He hadn't had a full night's sleep in nearly a month. Every night he awoke sticky with come and sweat, gasping for air. The dream was there, lurking, every time he closed his eyes.

Sometimes it was the same, most of the time with variations in which his bloody uncle fucked him twelve ways from Sunday, sideways and frontways and backways; with his tongue, his fingers, his cock, ginger roots, and things James was sure he didn't want to know what they were. Charlie whispering filthy suggestions in James' ear as Teddy watched, kissed his neck, sucked him off, and every so often let James fuck him.

His uncle! His mother's god damn bloody fucking brother! It was so wrong on so many levels, but he still awoke every single time in the fleeting throes of orgasm. He was angry, frustrated, exhausted, but even more, he was ashamed because he liked it. All of it. Every filthy thing Charlie and Teddy did and said to him.

The fact that the actual sight of his uncle—at meals, during class, even seeing his name on the Marauder's Map—incited a raging fury inside him, or that he couldn't even bring himself to look at Teddy at all anymore without feeling dizzying waves of nausea, was inconsequential.

He'd lie awake long into the night, unable to go back to sleep after. Every time he closed his eyes he'd see it all over again, vivid and obscene and erotic as hell; his cock didn't seem the least bit fazed or concerned with his moral dilemma. Sometimes he would manage to drift off in the early pre-dawn from sheer exhaustion, only to be woken by his bloody indestructible alarm clock soon after.

What made it worse was that everything Charlie and Teddy whispered to him didn't come from the real Charlie, or the real Teddy, but rather from his own perverted and utterly depraved mind.

McGonagall was right; his behaviour had certainly been disturbing.

She narrowed her eyes at him and he looked down at his lap. "I don't believe I need to reiterate them for your benefit as you are perfectly aware of your own behaviour, the results of which have been half a dozen detentions and one hundred six points lost for Gryffindor." She steepled her fingers before her on the desk and leant forward a fraction of an inch. "You have certainly not earned the accolades of your house and fellow students over the past month, either."

He could hear his Uncle George's voice in head saying, "Only a hundred and six? Fred and I would lose that many inside of a week. Surely you're not trying hard enough."

"I know you've always had a penchant for a bit of mischief, a trait in your family that I'm afraid I'm all too familiar with, but never before have you been so disrespectful or outright rude to your teachers. Frankly, I find some of these reports astonishing," she added, glancing at the thick folder beside her. "Have you anything to say for yourself?"

James shrugged. What could he possibly say? Sorry I fell asleep in class, Professor, but it's not my fault. I can't sleep at night because I can't stop dreaming about my uncle fucking me. Also, I fancy Professor Lupin, but my uncle's already fucking him, so I'm shit out of luck.

Headmistress McGonagall narrowed her eyes at him again and cleared her throat.

"No, Professor," he said in an almost toneless voice, "I have nothing to say."

She shook her head and sighed. "Your Hogsmeade privileges are temporarily revoked. If your behaviour does not improve, we can make that permanent, and I assure you I will not hesitate to do so. You may be of age, but you are still a student at this school."

James rolled his eyes and nodded.

"You will present yourself to Mr Podgorny tomorrow afternoon, after your last class, and you will assist him in whatever he requires for the entire weekend."

"Not Podgormless!" James said, sitting up straight. "He's a bloody lunatic!"

"Mr Potter! That is enough! You will assist Mr Podgorny in his caretaker duties, and I expect you will call him by his proper name, or else the next thing you lose will be your Quidditch captaincy!"

James slouched again in his seat, sulking. Angus Podgormless had taken over for Filch during James' second year, and while he was a marked improvement in some respects—he wasn't quite eager to punish the students as avidly as Filch—he was better suited to St. Mungo's than Hogwarts.

Rumours abounded that despite his cheerful disposition, he'd watched as his wife was devoured, limb by limb—her still-shrieking head being the last bit to go—by a Quintaped, and laughed the entire time. He talked to himself constantly, utterly pointless things about the game of Muggle tennis—he even carried a bloody racquet around with him. Half the strings were broken. Probably slept with the thing, too. And more, he was always smiling and laughing in a jovial sort of way. It was unnerving.

Vince Trilby, who'd been a Gryffindor two years ahead of James, had sworn he overheard Podgormless speaking with an acromantula in the forest, promising to provide the whole colony with plenty of food. He didn't want to punish the students; he just wanted to feed them to some big hairy beast. And now James had to spend an entire weekend with the nutter.

"This will be your only warning, Mr Potter. If I receive one more report about you, you will not play in the match next week. That is all."

James bit back a retort, stifled another yawn, and stood. "Thank you, Professor," he said, trying not to let his annoyance seep into his voice. He glanced at his watch as he left her office and muttered a curse, breaking into a run. He was late for practice...again.

~*~

Albus was furious with him, and Myles gave him an exasperated look and turned away.

"Nice of you to honour us with your presence, O' Mighty Captain," Albus said. "Don't tell me, another detention is it? Colour me shocked. Do you even give a shit about this team anymore?"

"Fuck off," James snapped. "And the rest of you. Enough gawking. Shut your gobs and get your arses in the air. _Now!_"

~*~

After a weekend of endless back-breaking cleaning in the too-close, maddeningly cheerful presence of a complete nutter wielding a tennis racquet, followed by days of students snickering behind his back about whether they should now refer to him as 'Mr Pottygormless' in honour of his new best friend—'and didn't they make a sweet couple?'— James' mood couldn't have been more foul.

His team was on the verge of mutiny, and Lily had even threatened to write home to Mum and Dad. McGonagall watched him out of the corner of her steely eyes, he still couldn't sleep properly, his cock and his conscience were both mutinous traitors, and it had been pissing down rain for four days straight.

"...isn't that right, Mr Potter? Mr Potter?"

"_What?_ James snarled, and Gillian Clack, who had the misfortune to sit next to him at the table, shied back.

Professor Longbottom looked at James for a long moment without saying anything. "Five points from Gryffindor." James' house mates groaned, and Andrew Belby scowled at him, cursing under his breath.

Professor Longbottom sighed. "All right, everyone, that's all for today. Next week we'll prune them, and I'll show you how to preserve the leaves. Mr Corner, please don't tease the buds. If you annoy them, they _will_ bite your finger off, and it will require more than a simple dose of Skele-Grow if you'd like it back. I don't recommend it. Mr Potter, please stay."

James stiffened and sighed inwardly as Professor Longbottom brushed off the stool beside him and sat down, a frown on his face. He liked Neville, had known him as long as he could remember. He was a good teacher, always kind to his students even when they didn't deserve it, and was also a close friend of his parents.

"Is everything all right, James?" he asked. "I don't mean to pry—"

"Then don't," James snapped, belatedly adding, "Professor."

Professor Longbottom paused, pursed his lips. "Then I will advise you that your work over the last few weeks has been shoddy, and if I don't see an improvement, you will be hard pressed to earn a passing mark in my class, regardless of your exam scores."

James said nothing, staring straight ahead at a potted Fanged Geranium, idly thinking that Professor Longbottom had a curious obsession with man-eating plants.

"I'm very disappointed in you," Professor Longbottom added, running his hand over his face and rubbing his chin.

"I've spoken to Charlie and Teddy," he added softly, and James bristled. "They're both very concerned about you."

"Well, I'm sure I'm flattered by their _concern,_" James said, scowling. "Excuse me, Professor, but if you wouldn't mind. I'll see that I put more effort into my work and I apologise for my rudeness, but I'm going to be late to Potions, and unless you plan to put me in detention, which Dagworth certainly will if I'm late again, may I please be excused?"

"James," Professor Longbottom said with such regret that James turned and looked at him.

He looked almost as tired as James felt, and a wave of guilt surged through him.

Professor Longbottom gazed at him for a long moment, and then stood, gesturing with his hand. "Off with you then. Please tell Professor Dagworth that it was my fault you were late. And James," he added with a faint smile, "good luck on Saturday."

~*~

The rain was still pissing down on Thursday night, and although James hadn't been late this time, practice was going very badly. They were soaked to the skin and it was almost impossible to see more than five feet in any direction, but that didn't stop James shouting at them all until he was hoarse.

The team was already unhappy and annoyed with their captain; his shouting and sniping only made things worse. After several near disasters with the Bludgers, dozens of dropped Quaffles and missed passes, and Lily and Ben declaring the Snitch a lost cause, James signalled for them to land.

He dismounted his broom and secured the balls with Myles' silent help. The Snitch was missing, and Madam Hooch wasn't going to be happy about that. He grunted at Myles, muttered under his breath about incompetence and stomped through the mud to where the rest of the team stood huddling, looking completely dejected.

Before he could open his mouth to berate them further, Albus stepped out in front and turned to address them.

"Nothing more we can do tonight. Not the best practice we've ever had, but we've one more tomorrow, and I know we'll get it together for the match. Hazel, you should go have your arm looked at."

"I'll go with her," Lily said.

Albus nodded. "The rest of you go on back to the common room and dry off. I'll get one of the house-elves to bring us some hot chocolate. Good effort, all of you, despite the weather. Peckers up, yeah?" he added with a faint smile.

James stood there with his mouth open, rain dripping off the end of his nose, fist clenching his broom so tightly his fingers were beginning to tingle. As the others trudged up to the castle, he whirled on Albus.

"Who's the fucking captain around here?"

Albus glared and took a step toward him, pointing his finger. "_You_ have been an utter prick for weeks now, but tonight—Did you know that Hazel bloody flew _into_ that Bludger to stop it smacking you in the head? Personally, I think she should have let it hit you. But did you thank her? Fuck no! You go and shout at her in front of everyone!"

James swallowed, ignoring the pang of guilt that gnawed at his gut. "Fuck off!"

"I'm not finished with you," Albus said. "You may be the captain, but you're complete shit at it. The younger kids are all afraid of you, and the cousins are ready to disown you, and if it wasn't for Myles, everyone would have quit a week ago, including me. I don't even know who the hell you are anymore!"

James glared at his brother. "I'm still the fucking captain around here. Quit if you want to. You undermine me again and I'll boot your arse myself." He turned on his heel and stalked off to the changing rooms.

The door crashed open before he touched the knob, and he stomped inside, slamming it shut behind him and throwing his broom on the floor. "Shit!" He punched one of the lockers and swore again, shaking his stinging hand. He kicked the offending locker. "Fucking shite-buggering fuck! Ow!" He grabbed his foot and hopped around, but his wet, muddy trainer slipped from his grasp. He stumbled, caught himself, and sat down hard on a bench.

"Gonna use your head next? I'd even pay to watch."

James looked up, scowling. Myles leant against the wall, wearing a Muggle track suit, an illustration of large red lips with a lolling Union Jack tongue plastered across his chest. He had a mud-spattered flannel in his hand, a bath towel round his neck, and his damp hair stuck up at odd angles. His expression was mild, eyebrows slightly raised.

James bit back a retort and sighed. "What, and let the rest of the team miss out on the fun?" His voice was a rasping croak and he cleared his throat. "Hell, they'd probably levitate the lockers and take turns dropping them on my head." He swiped his forearm across his forehead and frowned at his sodden sleeve, still dripping water. "Thought you weren't speaking to me."

"As my Muggle grandmother would say, 'talking to you is like talking to a wall.'" Myles frowned. "Except here the walls talk back on occasion, so maybe it's not so appropriate after all." He pulled the towel from around his neck, walked over to James and dropped it on his head, sitting down beside him.

"Thanks," James said, his voice muffled by the towel. He scrubbed at his hair, wiped his face, and pulled the towel down into his lap, picking at the threads. He'd missed Myles. He felt completely drained, as though all of the anger he'd been carrying around had burnt a hole in his stomach and everything had spilled out. "I've been a bit of a prick, haven't I."

Myles laughed. "A bit? That's putting it mildly. Fuckwit comes closer. Not close enough though." He nudged James' shoulder with his own. "I'm glad I didn't have to resort to beating the crap out of you. That was my plan, you know. Didn't even think about dropping lockers on you. Have to file that one away for next time."

James snorted. "You think you can take me?"

"With my wand in my pocket and my hands tied behind my back," Myles said. "You've a big mouth, but deep down you're a wuss. Lily could beat your arse."

"Oi!

Myles chuckled. "So."

James sighed. "Sorry I've been such an Erumpent's arse."

"And?"

"And what?"

"And are you going to tell me _why_ you've been such an Erumpent's arse? Or do I have to hex you stupid and feed you Veritaserum? Which, by the way, is Albus' plan if physical violence doesn't work."

"Group effort is it? Where's he gonna get his hands on Veritaserum?"

Myles glanced sidelong at him. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. So what is it, then. You dying? Got some incurable disease that shrinks your knob and swells your bollocks?"

"Ha ha. Trying to be funny, are you?"

"If I have to guess, it's going to take a while, and neither of us is leaving here until you tell me what it was that shoved a red hot poker up your stroppy arse, so we can do it the easy way or the hard way. Your choice."

"Bastard."

"Yup," Myles said rather cheerfully. "So get on with it. I figure we can go at least a week before we starve to death."

"I..." James sighed and covered his face with his hands.

"Don't even start with that, Potter! Talk. Now."

James shook his head.

"Bloody hell, Jamie," he said, and put his arm around James's shoulder. "I really do hope to hell you've got some life-threatening incurable disease for all this, because if you tell me something daft like some bird rejected you or, I don't know, you've discovered you're gay—"

James stiffened.

"Merlin's balls on a broomstick. You've got to be fucking kidding me," Myles said, and James could hear the exasperation in his voice. He slid his hand off James' shoulder. "_That's_ what this was all about? You are _such_ a bloody _wanker_!" he said, and smacked James in the head. Then he laughed.

James peered out between his fingers, turning his head so he could see Myles. He was wiping his eyes with one hand, and with the other, he hooked his arm around James' neck and pulled him close. He poked James in the back of the head with his knuckle, digging it in hard, and James squirmed in his grasp.

"Quit it, y'bastard, that hurts!"

"You deserve worse you know," Myles said, and rested his forehead against the top of James head, his arm still around James' neck. "I can't believe you. You couldn't tell me that? I should pommel you." He sat up, his hold loosening. "You don't fancy me, do you?"

James snorted. "I have better taste than to lust after your scrawny arse."

"_Scrawny_?" Myles said, tightening his grip around James' neck. "I think you mean brawny. You're the one with the scrawny Potter arse." He pulled James across his lap and gave said arse a light smack.

James stiffened instinctively. "Don't—" He took a breath and forced himself to relax. Myles let him go, giving him an inquisitive look. "Sorry," James muttered as he sat up. That bloody dream was going to haunt him for the rest of his life at this rate.

"No, it's..." Myles ran his hand through his hair and dropped his arm to his lap. "You wouldn't talk to me. And you've been in such a strop. So when you said...I thought maybe that's why you were avoiding me."

James shook his head, a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. "There's only one Glentworth I'd consider shagging, and sorry mate, it's not you."

Myles laughed. "Speaking of, you saw I had a letter from her last week, yeah?"

James nodded. Myles' sister Lizzie was four years ahead of them, and James had had a terrible crush on her his second and third years. Myles had been disgusted and teased him relentlessly for ages. He'd even told her, the little bastard, and to James' utter mortification, she'd smiled and patted him on the head, and said, "Well aren't you a sweetie. It's too bad you're not my type."

He eventually grew out of it, but he still thought she was rather fit. She was blonde and petite and didn't look a thing like her younger brother.

"She wrote to tell me she finally told our parents about her girlfriend," Myles said.

James sat up sharply. "Her what?"

"Her girlfriend. They've been dating for over a year. She's gay, you idiot. Well, a lesbian I suppose."

"You told me she was dating a Muggle!"

"Her girlfriend _is_ a Muggle. Jeanette. She's really nice."

"You didn't say it was a Muggle _bird_," James grumbled. Lizzie? Really? He shouldn't be so shocked, but he was. He'd never have guessed.

Myles smacked him in the head again.

"Oi! What was that for?" James said. He slid down the bench just out of arm's reach.

"Sorry," Myles said. "I couldn't help it."

James rolled his eyes. "I'm not though. Well, I guess I am. I think I still like birds, but I suppose I can't fancy your sister anymore."

"You can still fancy her, she just won't fancy you back. Idiot. You really are. Did you forget you told me about your Uncle Charlie years ago?"

"Don't talk about him!"

"I'm not saying anything nasty, for fuck's sake. I know he bats for both teams. That's what you mean, yeah? You're like your uncle?"

"I'm nothing like him!"

Myles held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Obviously I've hit a nerve."

"Sodding tosser," James muttered.

Myles narrowed his eyes. "Now I think on it, you two were really close up until a month or so ago. So what's he done, then? You're not going to tell me something horrible like he tried to chat you up, are you?"

James' eyes widened. "No! But...it's...Oh, bugger." He sighed. In for a Sickle, in for a Galleon. "All right." He turned to face Myles and straddled the bench.

"See, there's this, this bloke I fancy—and I'm not telling you who, so don't ask me, you fucker. I went to talk to Charlie, for advice, like. I didn't tell him who it is either, mind, so don't go thinking I'm only keeping things from you.

"Anyway," James continued, "I was going to go talk to him again, when I saw the bloke walk to his hut and go inside. And, well..." He twisted the towel in his hands, fists clenched tight. "Right, so I spied on them a bit. One of the curtains was open, and I saw them...I saw them..." He clenched his teeth.

"Your uncle's fucking a student?" Myles asked, slightly horrified.

"No, you idiot! Of course not. It's not a student. Someone, ah, someone came to visit him, see. Someone who isn't a student here. And that's all I'm saying." Technically Teddy did visit him, and he wasn't a student, so he wasn't exactly lying.

"But he doesn't know you fancy this person, does he?" Myles ran his hand through his hair. "You said you didn't tell him. And you're cross with him because he's dating the bloke you fancy, only he doesn't know you fancy the bloke he's dating, and he doesn't know why you're hacked off at him.... Merlin's balls, Jamie. Why didn't you tell him? This is why you've been such a fucker to everyone?"

James swallowed. It sounded really stupid when Myles said it out loud like that. "Er, yeah, but, well, no. That's not everything. See, I keep having this dream..."

He kept the details of the dream to a minimum; Myles really didn't need to know, and he really didn't want to tell him. It still wasn't easy, but he managed to stammer out the important bits.

"And I haven't been able to sleep since. Every time I fall asleep, every night, I have that fucking dream."

Myles stared at him. "Shit. I can't even make a crack about you needing to polish your broomstick. But you should have told me, you tosser. We've been friends since we were eight fucking years old. Did you really think I'd just bugger off on you?"

James twisted the towel between his fingers, his face burning.

"Even if you did fancy me. Your loss, by the way. I happen to be an excellent shag."

James snorted and nearly choked. "You wish."

"Seriously though, James. Well, you're not gonna like it, but I really think you need to talk to Charlie."

"I can't," James said, hanging his head. "I can't even look at him anymore."

"I'll come with you if you want. Just to start, 'cause I'm not sticking around for _that_ conversation, but you're going to talk to him. After class tomorrow. Before practice. You know I'm right. But for now," he said, standing up, "Come on. Let's go. I'm starting to mould here."

James stood up and tossed the towel in the corner. Myles pulled on his muddy robes, grabbed both their brooms and handed James' to him, and clapped his hand on James' shoulder.

"Gryffindor, yeah? I told you you were a wuss," Myles said.

"Oh, shut it. I'll think about it. Suppose I should apologise to the team, and Hazel. I was pretty horrid to her. Think she hates me?"

"We all hate you, Jamie," Myles said, and opened the door. "Hey, Al."

James eyed his brother warily. It was still pouring, and Al looked like a drowned Niffler. "What are you doing here?"

"Just making sure nobody lost any limbs. All settled now, are we?" he asked almost innocently, balancing on the balls of his feet, hands in his pockets, as though he hadn't told James off forty-five minutes earlier.

Myles slung one arm around each of their shoulders, nearly cuffing James in the ear with his broomstick handle. "Give me that," James said, grabbing Myles' broom.

"Didn't even get to punch him in the nose," Myles said. "Bollocks, this weather is complete shite. Race you back." He dropped his arms and took off running for the castle.

James and Al looked at each other. James opened his mouth to speak, but Al shook his head.

"Don't. It's okay. Come on then," he said, and ran off after Myles.

James looked at the two brooms in his hand and shook his head. Bastards. "Oi, wait up!"

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

**Some Days Are Diamonds (Some Days Are Rocks)**

_Chapter Six (Chapter rating:** Light R**)_

He should have felt better. He supposed he did in a small way. His team didn't hate him anymore—Hazel had blushed when he presented her with a bouquet of Dancing Daffodils at breakfast—and everything with Myles was back to normal again.

They all sat together at lunch, Myles piling food on his plate.

"You hardly ate anything at breakfast," he said. "And you're going to talk to him today, because if you come to practice and you haven't, I'm going to Petrify you and stuff you in a locker, and Hazel can play for you on Saturday. Did you, ah, sleep last night?"

James nodded and absently spooned mashed neaps into his mouth. Albus was looking at him funny, probably because he knew James hated turnips. He was dreading Care of Magical Creatures class and purposely avoided looking at the High Table. He considered skiving off, but he was afraid that Myles might actually follow through on his threat.

"Want me to meet you after class?" Myles said as they left the Great Hall.

"I don't need a minder."

Myles eyed him warily. "Yes, I think you do. But I have faith in you. Gryffindor courage," he added, turning to head up the stairs to his Muggle Studies class.

"You can shove your Gryffindor courage up your arse," James muttered as he trudged outside. The rain had let up, though it was still drizzling and the air was saturated. He was soaking wet within minutes. At lunch, Charlie had asked them to meet him outside Greenhouse One. Apparently the shipment of Mimbulus Mimbletonia Professor Longbottom received this morning also contained an infestation of Saharan Flying Fire Ants.

"Okay everyone, inside," Charlie said, when they'd all arrived. He was wearing a strange sort of one-piece suit that was bright orange and clashed horribly with his hair. "Don't worry. They're in Greenhouse Three. You're safe in here.

"Right. I've set out baits and traps, and we've managed to stun and contain some of them. But there are still plenty more, and we haven't been able to capture the queen. I want you all to strip off your robes. Ladies, if you're not wearing clothes underneath, you can change in the back. Everyone take one of these jumpsuits and put them on."

"What the hell are these?" James asked, holding up one of the suits and wrinkling his nose.

"These are so you don't pick up any uninvited guests. Unless you'd like to risk having them fly beneath your robes, Mr Potter, then by all means." Charlie turned to the rest of the class. "We'll use Bubble-Head Charms, again. Leave your bags here. You'll just need your wands and your gloves. Now, what we want to do is..."

James scowled and tuned Charlie out, examining the suit. He removed his cloak and robes, and stepped into it. It was a bit awkward getting it on, but it had a long zipper up the front from navel to neck. They all looked ridiculous, but he supposed it was better than ending up in the hospital wing with his knackers swelled five times their normal size and his pubic hair burnt off.

"Remember," Charlie said, leading them to the infested greenhouse, "We don't want to kill them if we don't have to, and that goes for the plants as well, so have a care. And try not to stun each other if you can help it."

It was actually rather fun, despite the fact that the ants—nearly three inches long with a sharp pointy stinger at their tails—were enraged, and attacked them the moment they stepped inside. One nearly escaped, but Charlie stunned it before it could fly away. At least most of the swarm was young, so the flames shooting from their mouths only had a range of about a foot.

The jumpsuits weren't sting-proof, and only marginally fire-proof, but the colour made it easier to see the little blighters, who were a reddish-black with huge iridescent wings. They flew in coordinated formations, and several times he had to duck under a table to avoid being dive-bombed.

Of course they did stun each other quite often, since it was difficult to aim with precision when the ants were flying at them so fast. He had a headache from cracking his head on the floor each time he fell, unconscious, and the sleeves and back of his jumpsuit were scorched in several places.

Some of the more mobile plants were eager to assist the students, swatting their branches and leaves in the air, and snapping at anything within reach, including the students, with their mouth-like pods. He kept a wary eye on the Fanged Geraniums.

Once they stunned the queen, though, the others stopped attacking and merely hovered in confusion. He pointed his wand at one of the ants and sent it flying in loop-de-loops around the greenhouse.

"What the hell are you doing, Potter?" Charlie said.

"Just having a bit of fun," he said. "What's it to you?"

"Bring it down, now," Charlie said. His voice was light, but there was an edge to it.

James shrugged, flicked his wand, and the ant zoomed across the room toward the trap. He wasn't paying attention, and before the ant reached the trap, a Fanged Geranium shot out and plucked it out of the air. It swallowed and belched loudly, a thin wisp of smoke wafting from its fanged mouth.

"Oops," he said, chuckling. "That was pretty cool though."

Charlie narrowed his eyes at him. "Detention, Potter. Tonight. I want to see you after class."

"Sorry," James said loftily, "I've practice tonight."

"You'll come," Charlie said with a glare, "or you can serve another tomorrow with me while the rest of the school is at the match. And don't think I won't do it."

"Bastard," James snarled under his breath. _Shit._ Of course Myles would laugh and say it was fate. And then he'd smack him in the head for getting another detention. He couldn't miss practice tonight; they'd kill him. Not that it mattered; McGonagall wouldn't let him play now anyway.

After class, he changed out of the jumpsuit in Greenhouse One. Charlie was waiting for him at the door.

"My place, now," he said. "And I don't want to hear you open your mouth unless I ask you a question. I've had about enough of you. Let's go."

James sulked the whole way down. He knew he was being childish, but he couldn't help himself.

"Inside," Charlie said, He closed the door and cast an Imperturbable Charm. James stiffened. He knew the Charm wasn't for any nefarious reason, but it was still a bit of a shock.

"Sit down," Charlie said, kicking out a chair.

James took off his cloak and robes, hung them on a hook and sat down, leaning back on the two rear legs of the chair. Charlie walked to the back of the hut and returned a few minutes later wearing jeans and a jumper.

"Now, we can do this like men, or I can bend you over my knee and give you a good thrashing. Which is it going to be?"

James started so violently he nearly overturned the chair. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead and his mouth was dry. He stared wide-eyed at his uncle.

"Y-You got anything to drink?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Charlie sighed, shook his head, and grabbed two beers from the cold cupboard. "What the hell is going on with you, Jamie?" he asked, handing one to James and sitting down beside him.

James gulped down half the bottle in about five seconds flat. He glanced over at Charlie through his fringe, and downed the other half.

Charlie looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Thirsty, were you?" He took a drink from his own bottle and set it down on the table. "Right. We're not here for chit-chat. I'm not your father, but I am your uncle and your professor. I thought if we left you alone, you were adult enough to work through your issues in your own way. Apparently I was mistaken."

James narrowed his eyes. "My problems are none of your business."

"No, they're not. Except when you act like an insufferable, arrogant arse, when you disrespect me and mouth off to your professors in class, when you treat your brother and sister and your cousins like rubbish. And Teddy. You've really hurt him, you know."

"Don't you dare talk to me about Teddy!" James snarled.

"I will talk to you about whatever, and about whomever I please. If you don't like having me as your professor, you're free to drop my class at any time, but we are still family and we will always be family. I have no idea what I've done to infuriate you so badly, but I'm asking you, man to man, to tell me."

James glared at his uncle, spitting daggers. "You really don't know."

"If I knew, would I ask? Everyone's been talking about you—teachers, students. From what I've heard, your whole team was ready to commit mutiny. If McGonagall finds out I've given you detention she'll suspend you from playing tomorrow. Whether or not she finds out is up to you. She wanted to owl your parents a week ago. I asked her not to, to let me talk to you first."

Charlie ran his hands through his hair. "Look, I know you're going through a rough time, and I wish you'd talk to me about it instead of exploding at everyone."

"Right, talk to _you_ about it. That's the last fucking thing I want to do."

"What's that supposed to mean? I've kept your secret. I'd never betray you like that, and you know it."

James laughed, and it was an ugly sound. "Right. And I'm ever so grateful to my favourite uncle for his fucking _discretion_." He picked up his bottle and threw it hard against the wall, but the tinkling sound of the smashing glass didn't make him feel any better.

"Feel better there, Sparky?"

He looked up sharply and exhaled through his nose. "No."

"Well, there's more where that one came from. Feel free," he said, and slid his own bottle across the table toward James.

James picked up the nearly-full bottle, but instead of throwing it, he drank the rest of it down.

"I'm fresh out of Hangover Potion, so you'd better have a care," Charlie said lightly.

James wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the bottle down. His hand was shaking. He heard Myles' voice echoing in his head. _Gryffindor courage!_ "Shit," he whispered and bit his lip.

Charlie laid his hand lightly on James' wrist. "I can't help you if you won't talk to me."

"I saw you," James whispered hoarsely.

"Saw me where?"

"Here. You. With...with him." He glanced briefly toward the back of the hut and looked down. Charlie's hand was still on his wrist, and his skin tingled.

"With him?" Charlie asked. "What, with Teddy you mean?"

James clenched his fingers around the bottle. "Yes," he said, biting off the word.

"You saw us.... Oh. I see."

James nodded. A surge of anger shot through him, and he picked up the bottle and threw it against the wall. "Shit!" He turned back to Charlie, eyes blazing. "How could you? How could you do that to—to—"

"Now wait just a second. It's none of your business who I sleep with. Teddy is a grown man. Yes, he's quite a bit younger than I am, but if you're even insinuating that I've coerced him in any way—"

"How could you do that to _me_!" James shouted, and his voice cracked.

"I haven't done anything to you," Charlie said, puzzled. "What are you—Oh, Christ on a Christmas cracker." He sat back in his chair, a stunned look on his face. "It's Teddy. The bloke, your bloke, the one you fancy."

James' face was twisted in abject misery. He gulped, nodded, and turned away, blinking back tears.

Charlie vaulted out of his chair and knelt beside James. He put his arm around the back of the chair and rested his other hand on James knee. "I didn't know," he said softly. "Christ, how could I know? You wouldn't tell me his name. I'd no idea. I thought it was one of your friends. Myles.

"No wonder you were so angry. It was the night you got pissed, wasn't it?"

James nodded.

"Merlin, Jamie, I'm sorry."

James sniffed, breathing deeply. He covered Charlie's hand with his own and squeezed it hard.

Charlie slid the chair back. "Come here, you daftie," he said, and pulled James into a hug.

James wrapped his arms around Charlie's back and nestled his head against Charlie's shoulder, nuzzling against the side of his neck. "I know I shouldn't have been, but I was so furious. And—and jealous," he whispered as Charlie rubbed his back, holding him close.

"I can imagine," Charlie said. "How the hell did you see us, by the way?"

James pressed his face against Charlie's neck. "Ummm. I peeked through the window in the back," he said, his voice muffled.

"You little shit," Charlie said, and James could feel him laughing. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but he did know that Charlie's arms felt really nice holding him like that. He shuddered as dream fragments flashed through his mind, and he sat back slowly, licking his lips.

Charlie was looking at him with an almost tender expression, and James leaned in and kissed him. Charlie started in surprise, but didn't pull away when James slipped his tongue into Charlie's mouth. It was a nice kiss, gentle, not at all like his dream, although Charlie _was_ a brilliant kisser in reality as well as fantasy. He pulled away almost reluctantly and opened his eyes.

"Jamie," Charlie said.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know why—"

"I do, and it's okay. I understand. It was a nice kiss. But..."

"I know," James said, and covered his face with his hands. Christ! He snogged his uncle.

"Teddy and I," Charlie said. "Well, it is what it is. You should know though, it started before we got to Hogwarts. Not long before, but..." He shrugged and got slowly to his feet, his knee cracking as he stood. "Shit, I'm getting old," he said, dragged his chair closer and sat down.

"You don't have to hide, you know," he said, nudging James' knee with his own, and James dropped his hands to his lap.

"I snogged my uncle!"

"And nobody will ever know except the two of us. Stop worrying. I promise I won't give you Dragon Pox."

James snorted.

"You know something? When you got hurt at Quidditch trials, Teddy sat by your bed for five hours while you were unconscious. Wouldn't leave until Madam Pomfrey made me take him to get something to eat. He was furious that you woke up while he was gone, but relieved, obviously, that you were okay. He loves you. That's obvious enough, though whether that extends to the, ah, romantic side of things, I've no idea."

So he hadn't dreamt that after all. "Then why is he fucking you?"

"That's something you'll have to ask him, won't you? I can't answer for him. But if you want to know why I'm having sex with him—or would you rather not?"

"I have eyes, you know."

"You certainly do," Charlie said. "And apparently you use them more frequently than you should, hmm?"

James blushed. "It wasn't on purpose. Well, not at first. I... I saw him come down here on the map. You know about the map?"

Charlie nodded. "A bit."

"It was after practice, and I was looking at it to see if you were at home. I wanted to come and talk to you again, but it doesn't show the inside of the hut. I was about to put it away when I saw Teddy. So I came by. I thought about knocking, maybe, but I saw you'd put up an Imperturbable Charm, and all the curtains were drawn, and well..."

"How'd you know I'd put up a Charm?"

James blushed. "The extendable ears didn't work," he muttered.

Charlie laughed, and smacked James on the thigh. "You really are a little shit, you know that?"

James shrugged. "So I've been told. By several people."

"It's well earned. Jamie," Charlie said. "You have to tell him."

"But what if he doesn't fancy me back?"

"That's a chance you have to take, isn't it?"

James sighed. When had he become such an abysmal Gryffindor? "I'm sorry. I really am. Do I still have detention tonight?"

Charlie pushed back his chair and stood up. He stretched his arms over his head and arched his back, joints popping. "Hell of a day. Thank Merlin it's Friday. Come help me compost the pumpkin patch, and promise me you'll retire from the voyeurism business, at least when it comes to me," he added, winking, "and I'll think about it. Oh, and Jamie? Clean up the broken glass, will you?"

~*~

*

_And did those brooms of Gryffindor's team  
Fly above Hogwarts' pitch so green?  
And did they play with great esteem  
The best Quidditch we've ever seen?_

_Our Seeker Lily Potter_  
_She couldn't get much hotter!_  
_She zips around the pitch_  
_And always grabs the Snitch!_

_"GRYF-FIN-DOR! GRYF-FIN-DOR!"_

*

They swarmed through the halls of the castle, still cheering over their victory and singing loudly. Lily was riding on the shoulders of one of James' dorm-mates, blushing and laughing, and several of the sixth years had nicked the team's brooms, leading the throng and brandishing them high in the air as a standard.

After a month of turmoil and near-mutiny, it had all come together and all was forgiven. They'd crushed Slytherin 370 to 60, he'd scored twelve times and had six assists, and nobody had been rushed to the hospital wing.

James was dizzy with euphoria; recruitment scouts from several teams had attended, and both the Tornados and the Magpies had expressed a keen interest in him. As they climbed the last staircase to the seventh floor, he realised he had no memory of the trip back from the pitch; he'd been carried along with the tides of the surging mob, buffeted by their merriment and pre-party celebrations. His back and shoulders ached from being smacked and pounded so many times with congratulations, and his feet seemed to be moving of their own volition. Nothing could be better than this, he thought as he raised his arm and pumped his fist along with the rest of his house.

Someone seized him by the arm, dragged him to the edge of the crowd, and before he could protest, something soft and shimmery was thrown over his head. He recognized the invisibility cloak immediately and balked, but someone shushed him.

"This thing's a lot smaller than I thought," Teddy said, crouching and pulling them both into an alcove behind a tapestry. "That's better. Don't have to worry so much if our feet show now." He flicked his wand, murmured, _Muffliato_, and pocketed it. "Now, where was I?"

"Teddy?" James asked, teetering between confusion and shock. They were so close that James could feel Teddy's warm breath on his cheek. "What—?"

"Shut up, Jamie," Teddy said, tilted James' chin up and kissed him.

James' eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, gasping in surprise. Teddy seemed to take that as an invitation and slipped his tongue between James' parted lips. He stood completely still for several rapid heartbeats, completely gobsmacked, while Teddy kissed him, licking deeply into his mouth. Teddy moaned softly and rubbed his thumb across James' cheek, and James, finally spurred into action, flung his arms around Teddy's neck and stopped thinking about anything except Teddy's mouth on his, his tongue, his fingers.

The kiss lingered for what felt like an age, and when they parted, his legs felt like someone had cast a Jelly-Legs jinx on them. He clung to Teddy's shoulder, thinking, _Bloody hell. That stupid cliché really is true!_

"Um..." he said, and cleared his throat.

"Sorry," Teddy said, though he didn't look the least bit so. "You look quite fit in your Quidditch kit, you know."

"You kissed me," James said, touching his lips absently. His gloves were warm and smelled faintly of broomstick polish.

"Can't get anything past you, can I?"

"Teddy!"

Teddy sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Should I not have? You didn't seem to mind. Rather enthusiastic in fact."

"Of course I didn't mind. That's not the point. We haven't spoken in over a month, you're fucking my uncle, and out of nowhere you grab me and snog me senseless."

"Senseless, was it? Glad to know you enjoyed it," Teddy said lightly

"Can you possibly be serious for one fucking minute?"

"Right. We should talk, I suppose. Where would you like to start?"

James groped for the first thing that came to mind. "Where did you get the cloak?"

"Where do you think? Al, of course."

"But—"

"He came to see me yesterday," Teddy said. "We had a nice little chat. Enlightening."

"Nosy, interfering git," James grumbled.

Teddy laughed and pointed his finger at James. "You are an ungrateful brat. Someone had to. You've been a right prick, you know."

James blushed and looked at his feet. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Part of it is my fault, I guess. Inadvertent as it may have been." Teddy paused and shifted, rubbing his hand over his chin. "About Charlie..."

"You don't have to tell me anything."

"Don't I?"

James shrugged.

"I didn't know. That you knew about us, I mean. Neither of us did. And speaking of, I also talked to Charlie last night. He laughed at the both of us."

James was still looking at his feet. Once again, he'd cocked up a good thing. Teddy had come to him, snogged him breathless, and he'd put on the brakes and demanded they talk. _Talk!_ When they could be snogging. Or.... He bit his lip, not certain he should take that thought any further. He had to be the biggest big girl's blouse in the history of Hogwarts.

On the one hand, Teddy obviously wasn't angry with him anymore. On the other hand, they really did need to clear the air, though James wasn't sure he wanted to hear any of the details. He'd seen enough. Granted, he'd felt a lot better after his talk with Charlie yesterday, and last night, for the first time in over a month, he hadn't had the dream. He'd finally started to come to terms with...things, and now Teddy was throwing another Bludger into the mix. Not that that was such a bad thing...

Teddy touched him gently on the shoulder. "It wasn't...well, all right, I suppose it looked like we were in a...a relationship. But it wasn't like that. We like each other well enough, obviously, but we're not in love with each other. It wasn't ever meant to be a long-term thing."

James frowned. "But you liked it, liked fucking him, and you won't get sacked if anyone finds out," he said, surprised at the bitterness in his tone.

"There is that, yes. And I won't deny that I enjoyed it. But you're missing the point." Teddy lifted James' chin with his index finger. "Charlie was my first. My first bloke," he amended as James snorted.

"It was during the Cup. While we were in Spain," he continued. The whole family, including Teddy—twenty-five in all; his grandmother hadn't come—had gone to Spain last August for the Quidditch World Cup. "I..." He sighed. "It's not important. But like I said; it's not serious. Wasn't serious. Sounds a bit callous to say it was just sex, though.

"Do you know why I took the position here when McGonagall asked?" Teddy asked, leaning closer until the tips of their noses were touching. James held his breath as Teddy skimmed his finger along James' jaw line.

"No," James whispered, sounding a bit strangled, and closed his eyes. Teddy's finger was tracing his ear with light, deft touches. _Breathe, Potter, breathe._

"Granted she was a bit desperate, and I do love this school. I was happy to help her out of a bind. But I said yes, and stayed on again this year because I was selfish," Teddy said. His fingers tickled along the nape of James' neck, toying with the hair that curled damply past his collar. "I wasn't going to say anything until you finished your N.E.W.T.s, after you left school," he continued. "Until yesterday, I didn't even know if you fancied blokes.

"Every Sunday we'd go flying," he whispered, kissing James just below his left ear. "You'd come to my office to do your homework while I marked essays." James moaned softly, tilted his head, and Teddy ran his tongue down the side of James' neck. "You'd come to my rooms for tea, and we'd play chess or one of those Muggle games you like, listen to Quidditch." He sucked lightly at the juncture between neck and shoulder. "And all the time, I'd watch you."

James felt Teddy pull back, and he opened his eyes to find Teddy looking at him. It was dim, not dark in the tiny alcove, but his face was shadowed, and close enough that it was hard for James to focus, so he concentrated on Teddy's mouth. Teddy's lips were full and wet, and a smile seemed to lurk in the corners. When Teddy's tongue darted out and licked them, James inhaled sharply, thinking he should have chosen a different focal point. His palms were sweaty under his gloves, and he had an itch between his shoulder blades that he desperately needed to scratch. He was filthy from the Quidditch match, but Teddy didn't seem to mind.

"I thought that you'd maybe cottoned on and were rejecting me. All of a sudden you were so insistent about my being a professor, going on about how we couldn't act like we did at home. You didn't come round as often, kept your distance. And then you started dating Lavinia Moon. She was one of my best students, too. Can't say I wasn't a bit jealous."

"We just went to Hogsmeade a couple times," James said, leaning against the wall and trying to ease the itch as unobtrusively as possible while he mulled over Teddy having felt rejected. He wanted to smack himself for being such an oblivious git. "And she was always busy revising for N.E.W.T.s anyway." He took a deep breath and grinned rather crookedly.

"Er, I was afraid you'd guess about me. We were down by the lake with Al and Myles and Scorpius and that lot, remember? And you jumped on my back, nearly knocked me into the water. Merlin, I had a massive hard-on. I thought everyone would notice. I thought you'd hate me if you knew. Also thought it might go away if I wasn't, you know. Tempted, I guess."

Teddy shook with laughter. "Oh, Christ. Couple of idiots, aren't we. You know, it honestly never occurred to me that you.... Bloody hell." He rested his forehead against James' and they stood there, breathing each other's breaths. James had to close his eyes; he was getting dizzy, and Teddy looked oddly Cyclops-ish, which made him want to burst out in an unbecoming fit of nervous giggles.

"So what do we do now?" James asked. "I mean, I'm still a student. You're a professor. You really would get sacked."

"I know. Had to go and bugger up my timeline, you little smart arse, didn't you?" Teddy said, though his tone was light, teasing.

James shrugged his shoulders and licked his lips. "And what about...what about Charlie?" he asked in a small voice.

Teddy leant back, but James kept his eyes closed this time. "What about him? You mean are we still going to...sleep together?"

"Weren't doing much sleeping when I saw you," James muttered. When Teddy didn't respond, he cracked open one eye. Teddy was looking at him, his expression one of exasperation.

"First of all, you shouldn't have been spying. Second, you should have said something to one of us, you know. Don't think I'm completely absolving you here. You've been impossible these last few weeks, Jamie, and there were times where I wanted to wring your bloody neck. Maybe I should have. I'm not going to apologise for—" he gestured absently with his hand "—for having had sex with someone else. I _am_ sorry I hurt you; I never meant to do that, and I think you know that."

James nodded, gripping his left index finger with his right fist. First Charlie, now Teddy was scolding him. Well, Al and Myles were first, but that was a bit different. He deserved it, he knew, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear it. What he really wanted was for Teddy to kiss him again.

"Third," Teddy said, and his hand closed around James' nervous fingers. He splayed his other hand against the wall beside James' head, and leant in close. "I'm not going to sleep with Charlie anymore. Have you not heard a word I've said?"

James licked his lips and swallowed, his pulse racing faster than his broom. He'd heard. He was just far too incredulous to actually believe it. The dreams had consumed him for weeks, wearing him down, mocking him, driving him completely mad to the point where he didn't trust his own instincts any longer.

"I think I'm in love with you," he blurted out, and shut his eyes tight. Whoever said confession was good for the soul was a right plonker.

Teddy inhaled sharply and squeezed his hand, murmured, "Oh fuck, Jamie," and the next moment he was kissing James again; hard, rough, deep. He pressed James back against the wall, and James freed his hand, wrapping both arms around Teddy's back, pulling him closer. He was so hard, and he rubbed himself against Teddy's thigh with abandon.

Teddy growled low in his throat—James could feel the vibrations through his chest—and thrust himself against James, his own erection evident, stiff and solid beneath his robes.

It was even better than the dreams; it was real and close and immediate. The scent of arousal, musky sweat, wet mouths, slick tongues, and the slide of hard bodies, harder cocks, the rustling of their robes as they thrust and rubbed against each other; it was nearly overwhelming.

Teddy pressed James' back roughly against the wall, hooking his leg around James' as if he were trying to climb inside him. He groaned deep and loud, and the sound went straight to James' cock. He bucked his hips hard and pulled away from Teddy's mouth, gasping, his mouth forming words he couldn't find the breath to speak, and came in a white hot pulse of _Ohgodfuckyes!_

"Oh, God," James groaned, and buried his face against Teddy's neck, mumbling a muffled, "Sorry."

"I hope that was for you being an arse, and not for what just happened," Teddy said, running his hand down James' back. "Merlin, your robes are soaked through!"

James bit Teddy's collarbone. "You had me pushed up against the wall, and it's hot under here. What did you expect?"

Teddy wrinkled his nose. "You could do with a shower, too. Not that I mind. Just an observation."

"Always knew you were quick," James said, smiling. He stood up straight and looked up at Teddy, his expression serious. "I'm not patient."

"Really?"

"Shush, you. I'm trying to be an adult here."

"Where's my camera?" Teddy said, and ducked when James tried to smack him on the side of his head.

"Oi! It's your arse if you want to get sacked."

Teddy ran his fingertip down the slope of James' nose and tapped gently on the tip. "I know. Still fun to tease you. Call it a lifetime habit."

"So what happens now?"

"I expect you'll want to go celebrate with your teammates and your house. Probably wondering where you are, considering you're the captain. Should be a good party."

James exhaled forcefully. "That's not what I meant."

"I know. I don't know what happens next, and I'm not sure I want to. Surprises are much more exciting. Hush. I know, I know," he added as James bristled. "I suppose we'll both have to be patient. You're right; I'd rather not get sacked. Wouldn't look good in the _Prophet_ either, would it? I can see the headline: 'Son of Werewolf Preys on Young.'"

James ignored Teddy's attempt at a joke and bit his lip. "And there's—well..."

Teddy raised his eyebrows. "Having second thoughts?"

"Don't be an arse," James muttered.

Teddy laughed. "That's good to know. Then what's troubling you? I know it's not going to be easy, but..." He shook his head and chuckled. "Merlin, you're not very discreet either, are you? I suppose I'll have to keep you in line. Responsible professor shaping young minds and all that rot. Seriously though, we'll find a way. Mischief managed, yeah? Oi, you're not smiling."

"It's not that. Well, that bit's going to suck Erumpent bollocks, but..." He ducked his head. "I saw what you did with Charlie," he whispered. _And I saw Charlie's enormous cock,_ he thought, but didn't say. "I'm not, I mean, I don't know if I can—"

Teddy once again raised James chin with his finger, and placed it against his lips to quiet him. He bent and kissed James lightly.

"I don't want you to. It's you I want, not you trying to be someone else. We'll figure out our own thing. Together. That is, if you want to."

"Shut up," James said, and kissed Teddy roughly.

"Right then," Teddy said. He sounded reluctant which made James feel rather giddy. "You should go. Party can't start 'til the captain gets there. Want to take the cloak? Give it back to Al for me?"

"Nah," James said, straightening his robes as best as he could. He really did need a shower. "Keep it for a bit until he asks for it back. Might want to clean it, too. Besides, it might come in handy, although I have this map, you see." James said, grinning, and stepped out from under the cloak.

Teddy pulled off the cloak, and James paused, staring as he appeared from thin air. Teddy's hair was mussed, and his face flushed with heat, robes askew, and James thought he looked even more gorgeous that way. Teddy balled up the cloak and stuffed it in his pocket, taking out his wand first. He combed his fingers through his hair, performed a quick _Scourgify_, and then turned to James, wand poised.

"Christ, a charm wouldn't even make a dent."

"Ha ha."

Teddy removed the _Muffliato _spell, and James peeked out of the alcove, finding the corridor empty. Teddy squeezed James' shoulder, and they stepped out, walking together towards Gryffindor Tower.

"So. Flying tomorrow?" Teddy asked as they stopped before the portrait of the Fat Lady.

James raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Gee. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

~*~

.

* * *

**End Notes:**

1. The first verse of the victory song the Gryffindors sing was shamefully stolen from Arsenal Football Club of the English Premier League (Go Gunners!), and the lyrics altered accordingly.

2. Angus Podgorny, along with much of his background information, was nicked with love and affection from Monty Python's Flying Circus.


End file.
